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ll^I  Ifttll 


SOUTHERN     CALIFORNIA: 

Its  Valleys,  Hllls,  and  Streams; 
Its  Animals,  Birds,  and  Fishes ; 

Its  Gardens,  Farms,  and  Climate. 


THEODORE  S.  VAN   DYKE, 

Author  of  "The    Still-  Hunter,"    "The   Rijle,   Rod,  and   Gun  in 
California"  etc.,  etc. 


NEW   YORK: 

FORDS,  HOWARD,  &    HULBERT. 

1886. 


6004  4 


By  Treod-:  Dykk. 


PREFACE. 


In  an  age  when  the  study  of  Nature  has  become  the 
most  popular  of  all  subjects,  no  apology  seems  needed 
for  a  book  treating  of  a  land  where  the  leading  fea- 
tures of  animate  and  inanimate  nature  are  quite  un- 
known to  the  great  majority  of  those  who  love  fresh 
fields  and  pastures  new.  To  many  who  live  in  South- 
ern California,  its  fields,  streams,  and  mountains  are 
the  country's  powerful  charm,  and  they  hold  here  in 
bondage  many  of  its  best  and  wealthiest  citizens. 
Yet,  outside  of  the  residents  the  knowledge  of  them 
is  comparatively  slight,  and  the  present  writer  is  the 
only  one  who  has  thus  far  touched  upon  them  to  any 
extent, — nearly  all  of  the  literature  about  Califor- 
nia treating  only  of  its  advantages  for  settlers.  The 
present  work  is  mainly  a  condensation  of  a  book 
originally  written  for  The  American  Field,  and  pub- 
lished in  that  journal  some  two  years  ago.  Some  of 
it  has  also  appeared  in  letters  to  The  New  York  Even- 
ing Post,  The  New  York  Sun,  Forest  and  Stream,  and 
other  papers.  As  thus  published,  it  contained  much 
relating  to  the  flora  and  fauna  that  must  now  be 
omitted  because  of  its  secondary  importance.  Nearly 
all  too  that  treated  of  the  habits  and  features  of  the 


VI  PREFACE. 

game  birds  and  animals,  together  with  the  manners 
and  kinds  of  hunting,  is  passed  over  in  these  pages 
because  fully  treated  in  my  other  books.* 

The  main  object  of  this  work  is  to  describe  the  nat- 
ural, out-of-door  attractions  of  Southern  California. 
It  will,  of  course,  be  quite  incomprehensible  to  many 
how  any  one  can  admire  a  wild-duck  anywhere  except 
upon  a  plate;  look  at  a  mountain  quail  with  any  feel- 
ing but  a  desire  to  murder  it,  or  see  anything  in  a 
mountain  brook  except  a  source  of  water  for  an 
orange  grove  or  alfalfa  patch.  And  how  any  one  can 
dwell  upon  such  things  to  the  exclusion  of  town-sites, 
harbors,  or  commercial  advantages,  and  write  of 
weeds,  brush,  and  uncut  firewood,  instead  of  the  ex- 
cellence of  this  locality  for  apricots,  and  of  that  for 
wine-grapes,  the  marvelous  profits  of  this,  and  the 
productiveness  of  that;  the  shortest  road  to  this  place, 
and  the  best  hotel  at  the  next  town,  will  be  positively 
astounding.  Yet  there  are  those  who  will  value  the 
book  the  more  for  these  omissions  :  and  for  such  only 
it  is  written.  At  the  same  time  it  would  hardly  do 
to  pass  over  the  features  of  this  new  civilization;  for 
these  are  quite  as  unique  in  their  way  as  are  the  nat- 
ural features  of  the  land.  Southern  California  has 
in  a  few  years  changed  as  no  other  part  of  the  world 
has  ever  changed:  and  the  transition  is  one,  not  of 
degree,  but  of  kind.  Though  limited,  it  seems  bound- 
less within  those  limits,  and  increases  in  geometrical 
progression  as  the  years  go  on. 

*  The  Still  Hunter,  and   The  A'ijle,  Rod,  an  J  Gun  in  California. 


PREFACE.  Vll 

Throughout  the  eastern  country  there  are  thou- 
sands of  men  who  have  won  fortune  enough  and  are 
now  anxious  only  for  its  enjoyment  by  an  easy  ride 
down  the  western  slope  of  life.  "Why  toil  forever 
up  the  tumbling  wave  to  sink  next  moment  in  the 
ocean's  hollow  ?  For  what  reward  upon  our  little 
pinhead  in  space  do  we  worry  and  wear  ourselves 
away  ?  If  men  can  be  judged  by  their  exclamations, 
when  both  unpremeditated  and  disinterested,  in  what 
do  they  take  more  genuine  and  enduring  pleasure 
than  in  a  fine  prospect  and  a  fine  day  ?  And  why 
should  such  pleasures  be  reserved  for  special  days 
and  seasons?  Why  not  enjoy  them  continuously? 
We  can  indeed  go  to  Florida  in  winter,  but  must 
fly  from  it  with  the  opening  of  spring.  We  would 
not  always  be  birds  of  passage.  Along  the  shores  of 
the  Mediterranean  or  in  Mexico  we  might  possi- 
bly find  what  we  want;  but  there  we  are  exiles  from 
our  people  and  country.  Is  there  no  spot  in  our 
own  land  where  both  winter  and  summer  shall  bring 
pleasure  and  comfort  ?" 

Such  are  the  questions  that  men  ask  themselves, 
and  many  turn  their  eyes  hopefully  toward  Southern 
California  for  an  answer.  Its  distance  and  its  "  dull- 
ness," as  some  would  call  it,  do  not  alarm  them  in  the 
least.  For  while  it  is  probably  true  enough  that  the 
majority  of  men  would  rather  be  lamp-posts  in 
Gotham  than  princes  in  Arcadia,  it  is  equally  true 
that  there  is  a  respectable  minority  that  would 
not, — a  minority  to  whom  the  difference  between  the 
densest  crowd  in  a  city  street  and  a  few  travelers  on 


viii  PREFACE. 

a  country  highway  represents  only  the  difference  be- 
tween so  many  head  of  cattle  that  care  nothing  for 
you,  and  which  feeling  you  cordially  reciprocate.  Peo- 
ple of  the  minority  way  of  thinking  are  fast  filling  the 
habitable  parts  of  this  southern  land  with  homes 
such  as  no  other  part  of  the  world  can  show,  and  the 
end  of  their  work  no  man  can  foresee.  Yet,  while 
cities,  homes,  and  gardens  arise,  and  the  productions 
of  the  land  increase  in  number  and  importance  in  the 
world  of  trade  and  traffic,  still  to  the  end  of  time 
Southern  California  will  be  a  land  chiefly  character- 
ized by  its  climate,  scenery,  and  out-of-door  attrac- 
tions. 

If  the  reader  fancies  he  detects  some  flavor  of  par- 
tiality in  this  book,  let  him  remember  that  it  will  al- 
ways be  quite  impossible  to  get  a  book  on  Southern 
California  that  will  not  be  tinctured  with  either  ig- 
norance or  affection.  The  tourist  of  a  few  weeks  or 
months  may  give  you  his  faithful  impressions,  but  in- 
stead of  looking  at  a  country  you  will  be  reading  a 
diary  of  travel.  You  would  hear  the  rattle  of  car- 
wheels  under  him,  the  clatter  of  the  plates  at  the  ho- 
tels where  he  stopped,  and  the  clink  of  the  glasses  in 
the  wine-cellars  he  visited;  would  see  buildings  and 
towns  and  people  that  you  might  see  better  in  any 
Eastern  State;  but  you  would  look  in  vain  for  Cali- 
fornia. Whether  or  not  the  description  of  the  man 
whom  Dante  saw  in  Hell,  carrying  his  head  by  the 
hair  for  a  lantern,  is  intended  for  a  satire  on  human 
observation,  certain  it  is  that  the  great  majority  of 
tourists  and  excursionists  would  know  about  as  much 


PREFACE.  ix 

of  California  if,  instead  of  bearing  their  heads  on 
their  shoulders,  they  carried  them  in  their  hands  after 
the  manner  of  Bertram  dal  Bomio.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  one  stays  long  enough  to  learn  all  its  pecu- 
liar features, — to  know  it  in  all  seasons  and  in  good 
and  bad  years;  to  see  all  its  different  kinds  of  land, 
its  cultivation  and  improvements;  and  especially  if 
one  is  a  sufficient  lover  of  nature  to  learn  it  from 
coast  to  mountain-top,  and  see  all  its  birds,  animals, 
and  fishes  in  their  native  haunts, — the  chances  are  a 
hundred  to  one  that  by  the  time  such  a  person  gets 
ready  to  write,  he  will  be  like  the  present  writer — 
writing  only  of  home. 

T.  S.  Van  Dyke. 
San  Diego,  Cal.,  May,  1886. 
1* 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Preface 5 

CHAPTER   I. 
A  Glimpse  of  the  Land 13 

CHAPTER    II. 
A  Nearer  View 25 

CHAPTER    III. 
The  Seasons 36 

CHAPTER    IV. 
Peculiarities  of  the  Seasons 51 

CHAPTER   V. 
A  Winter  Stroli 71 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Game,  Fish,  and  Camping 77 

CHAPTER  VII. 
The  Valley  Quail 90 

CHAPTER   VIII. 
The  Mountain  Quail 100 

CHAPTER    IX. 
The  Mountain  Brook 108 


xii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   X. 

PAGE 

The  Sea- Fishing 115 

CHAPTER   XI. 
The  Animals 125 

CHAPTER   XII. 
A  Glance  at  the  Birds 135 

CHAPTER   XIII. 
The  Insects  and  Reptiles 144 

CHAPTER    XIV. 
Rural  Life 156 

CHAPTER   XV. 
The  Story  of  the  Plow 168 

CHAPTER   XVI. 
The  Perfection  ok  Ac.riculture 180 

CHAPTER    XVII. 
Production 187 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 
Will  the  Climate  Cure  Me  ? 199 

CHAPTER   XIX. 
Hints  on  Coming  to  California 212 

CHAPTER   XX. 
The  "  Draw-hacks" 222 


SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A    GLIMPSE    OF    THE    LAND. 

The  highest  peak  of  the  San  Bernardino  mountains 
is  quite  sharp  and  bare  upon  the  summit,  and  com- 
mands a  circular  view  of  a  tract  fully  three  hundred 
miles  in  diameter,  within  which  lies  almost  every  vari- 
ety and  combination  of  Southern  California  scenery. 
From  the  top  of  this  peak,  eleven  thousand  feet  above 
the  general  level  of  the  habitable  part  of  the  land, 
one  may  on  a  clear  day  look  down  upon  a  landscape 
that  embraces  all  possible  extremes  of  barrenness 
and  fertility,  of  wildness  and  civilization,  with  nearly 
all  the  varieties  of  mountain,  plain,  and  valley  that 
time  and  the  elements  can  form.  The  prospect  is 
best  in  midsummer,  for  it  is  only  then  that  the  dis- 
tinctive features  of  California  are  brought  out.  Even 
then  one  needs  a  powerful  glass,  for  the  mountain  is 
so  lofty  that  it  is  no  easy  task  to  unravel  the  tangled 
web  of  shapes  and  colors  that  present  themselves 
even  at  its  very  feet;  this  mountain  having  the 
peculiarity  of  being  the  highest  in  the  United  States 
above  the  general  level  of  the  country  at  its  base. 

13 


14  SOUTHERN    CALIFORNIA. 

The  first  thing  that  rivets  the  stranger's  eye  is  the 
stupendous  desert  <>n  the  east,  cut  in  two  near  the 
center  by  a  long  low  range  of  wavy  hills,  bare,  dry, 
and  inexpressibly  barren.  The  part  on  the  north, 
called  the  Mojave  Desert,  is  larger  than  Massachu- 
setts; that  on  the  south,  called  the  Colorado  Desert, 
is  nearly  as  large.  The  visitor  may  have  traveled 
over  strips  of  barren  land,  and  seen  large  tracts  of 
good  land  called  "desert"  because  there  is  no  sur- 
face-water, but  nowhere  else  in  North  America  can 
one  see  such  barrens  as  these;  and  to  comprehend 
them  in  their  immensity  one  must  see  them  from  this 
mountain  as  they  lie  below,  gleaming  beneath  an 
eternal  sun.  Nowhere  does  the  power  of  man  in  his 
triumphs  over  nature  appear  more  insignificant  than 
on  the  line  of  the  Southern  Pacific  Railroad,  stretch- 
ing far  out  upon  this  yellow  immensity,  looking  with 
its  nearest  stations  like  a  spider's  web  with  three  or 
four  gnats  sitting  upon  it.  One  scarcely  realizes 
what  desolation  is  until  looking  down  upon  these 
mighty  sweeps  of  shimmering  sand,  and  thinking  of 
the  fiery  winds  that  whirl  the  dust  in  those  huge 
drifts,  and  of  the  fate  of  the  hundreds  who  have  tried 
to  cross  them  without  water. 

Yawning  beneath  us  on  the  south,  nine  thousand  feet 
deep,  is  the  pass  of  San  Gorgonio,  on  the  other  side  of 
which  Mount  San  Jacinto  rises  almost  to  a  level  with 
our  feet,  making  on  the  desert  side  the  swiftest  moun- 
tain rise  in  North  America — ten  thousand  feet  in  less 
than  five  miles.  Far  away  into  the  south  leads  from 
it  the  high  and  rugged  mountain  chain  that  shuts  off 


A    GLIMPSE   OF    THE  LAND.  I  5 

the  inhabitable  part  of  the  County  of  San  Diego  from 
the  fiery  breath  of  the  desert.  Tumbling  toward  the 
coast  in  long  lines  of  lower  mountains,  foot-hills,  and 
table-lands,  with  valleys  and  plains  lying  between, 
until  lost  in  the  highlands  of  Mexico,  the  range  pre- 
sents but  a  rolling  confusion  of  blue,  gray,  yellow, 
brown,  and  green. 

Around  toward  the  north-west  sweeps  the  great 
desert  of  the  Mojave,  with  the  blue  hills  of  Arizona 
on  the  east,  the  lofty  spurs  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  on 
the  north,  grov/ing  hazy  with  distance  and  bounded 
on  the  south-western  rim  by  a  continuation  of  the 
range  upon  which  we  stand.  Miles  away  these  moun- 
tains run,  in  a  long  ridge  nearly  five  thousand  feet  be- 
low us,  clad  in  green  forests  of  heavy  pine  until  the 
line  dips  suddenly  three  thousand  feet  lower  to  form 
the  Cajon  Pass.  Then  in  a  moment  it  rolls  skyward 
again  in  a  wild  medley  of  rugged  hills,  mounting  swift- 
ly one  over  another  until  they  terminate  in  the  peak 
of  Cucamunga.  This  peak  upon  the  south  falls  away 
ten  thousand  feet  in  less  than  six  miles  into  the  plains 
of  San  Bernardino,  almost  equaling  San  Jacinto  in  sud- 
denness, but  on  the  north-west  breaks  and  rises  again 
into  another  mighty  mountain  called  "  Old  Baldy," 
and  then  into  lower  ridges,  that  wind  away  till  lost 
to  sight  in  the  bristling  heights  of  the  San  Fernando 
range  in  the  northern  part  of  Los  Angeles  County; 
and  these  again  disappear  as  if  merged  in  the  last 
peaks  of  the  Sierra  Nevada.  The  western  horizon  is 
bounded  by  the  long  bright  band  of  the  Pacific, — 
in  the  morning,  of   silvery  sheen  ;   in   the   afternoon. 


1 6  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

when  the  sun  hangs  over  it,  all  aglow  with  golden 
shimmer.  And  this  is  broken  by  a  few  dark  spots 
with  ragged  edges,  that  one  would  scarcely  suspect 
to  be  islands,  some  of  them  over  twenty  miles  long 
and  seven  or  eight  hundred  feet  high. 

Within  this  inclosure  of  desert,  mountain,  and  ocean 
lies  a  tract  that  has  not  its  like  upon  the  globe.  One 
sees  valleys  of  the  brightest  verdure  where  the  grass 
is  fed  by  the  drainage  of  the  surrounding  hills,  and 
others  always  green  with  the  dense  foliage  of  live- 
oaks  that  have  stood  shoulder  to  shoulder  for  ages. 
There  are  smooth  slopes  brown  with  the  ripened 
alfileria;  low  rolling  hills,  silver  gray  with  matted 
wild-oats,  which  when  green  a  horseman  could  have 
tied  over  his  horse's  neck;  others  whitish  green  with 
the  tall  white  sage,  and  others  grayish  brown  with 
the  dense  ranks  of  the  wild-mustard  stalks.  Here  a 
canon  enters  the  plain  with  a  great  wash  from  some 
ancient  cloud-burst  or  season  of  unusual  rain,  cutting 
the  level  with  a  long  deep  gully,  and  then  covering 
it  with  acres  of  boulder  and  gravel;  and  here  another 
enters  by  a  little  soft  valley,  clad  with  a  rich  brown 
carpet  of  dried  clover  and  flowers,  with  perhaps  a 
huge  -rock-pile  of  ancient  granite  in  its  center  over- 
shadowed by  the  sweeping  arms  of  some  venerable 
live-oak.  There  lies  the  great  plain  itself,  with  its  dis- 
tant laguna  glittering  on  its  breast,  with  tall  slender 
columns  of  dust  marching  slowly  over  its  face  where 
the  little  whirlwinds  move  along;  the  Indian  girls, 
bright  with  gay  calico,  jogging  on  their  little  ponies, 
or  the  eight-horse  team  of  the  farmer  creeping  slowly, 


A    GLIMPSE   OF    THE  LAND.  1/ 

with  two  great  wagons  trailing  behind.  Upon  a  ris- 
ing knoll  shine  the  white  walls  of  the  old  Spanish 
ranch-house,  with  saddled  horses  tied  to  the  porch, 
beneath  which  the  owner  and  his  friends  are  perhaps 
rolling  cigarettes  and  chattering  melodious  Span- 
ish, while  the  herdsmen  are  driving  the  herds  with- 
out. 

You  see  the  line  of  the  water-course,  now  perhaps 
only  a  long  dry  bed  of  white  sand,  winding  seaward 
through  long  green  lines  of  sycamore,  cottonwood, 
and  willow,  spreading  out  at  times  into  broad  groves. 
Perhaps  the  water  breaks  out  here  and  there  in  a 
long  shining  strip,  or  it  may  flow  on  for  miles  and 
then  sink  to  rise  no  more.  Often  it  meanders 
through  meadows  green  with  perennial  grass,  then 
amid  jungles  of  wild-rose,  sweet-brier,  and  guatemote, 
along  low  bottom-lands  where  the  grape-vine  over- 
whelms the  snowy  bloom  of  the  elder  with  a  shower 
of  green  drapery,  and  feeding  from  its  hidden  waters 
little  ponds  fringed  with  green  rushes,  where  black- 
birds of  red  and  golden  wings  are  darkening  the  air 
above  the  open  water,  and  where  the  cinnamon-teal  is 
floating  with  its  downy  brood. 

Along  the  edges  the  plains  and  valleys  break  into 
low  hills  covered  with  thin  grayish-green  brush,  and 
the  little  hollows  between  them  are  often  filled  with 
prickly-pear,  or  the  still  more  forbidding  cholla  cac- 
tus, as  high  as  one's  head.  And  often  these  low  hills 
are  themselves  hard  and  stony,  and  covered  with  cac- 
tus, and  often  are  only  concretions  of  cobble-stones, 
with  which   the    intervening  hollows  are   also  filled. 


IS  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

And  perhaps  the  whole  is  only  a  succession  of  little 
mounds  a  few  yards  apart,  reaching  often  far  out  upon 
the  plain  itself,  looking  as  though  a  lake  of  soft  mud 
had  suddenly  hardened  while  shaken  into  waves,  but 
probably  made  by  the  wind  heaping  dust  around 
bushes  which  have  since  died  out. 

These  hills  break  into  higher  ones  that  roll  in  all 
sorts  of  shapes  and  bristle  with  dense,  dark  brush 
higher  than  one's  head,  or  perhaps  are  covered  with 
dead  grass  and  scattered  green  bushes  of  live-oak,  su- 
mac, and  fusica.  Among  these  bushes  smooth  boul- 
ders of  granite  often  shine  afar  like  springs  on  the 
hillside,  or  they  stand  along  the  crests  looking  against 
the  sky  like  houses  or  chimneys.  Again  some  of  these 
hills  are  only  huge  undulations  of  bare  dirt,  reach- 
ing for  miles  like  chopping  waves  upon  a  stormy  sea, 
some  gray,  some  dingy  white,  others  a  sickly  brown 
or  red. 

Beyond  these  secondary  hills  rise  others,  thousands 
of  feet  high,  covered  with  dark-green  chaparral, 
through  which  perhaps  a  clump  of  bright-green  syca- 
mores marks  afar  the  presence  of  water.  Or  they 
may  be  from  base  to  summit  studded  with  boulders, 
amid  which  the  lilac,  manzanita,  and  live-oak  struggle 
for  foothold.  Others  again  have  long,  smooth  slopes, 
golden  with  dead  foxtail  grass,  over  which  venerable 
white-oaks  stand  scattered.  And  among  the  jostling 
shoulders  of  these  lower  mountains  are  often  little 
gardens  of  living  green,  sometimes  sunk  like  lakes 
into  their  very  tops.  Between  the  ranges  of  such 
hills  may  lie   broad  valleys  or  wide  table-lands,  with 


A    GLIMPSE    OF   THE   LAND.  \'j 

surfaces  like  rolling  prairie,  all  lifted  into  the  region 
of  abundant  rains.  And  far  above  all  else  rise 
fir-plumed  mountains,  whose  sides  are  robed  in  dark 
forests,  below  whose  heads  the  clouds  float  in  long 
streams,  whose  highest  gulches  are  white  with  snow 
far  into  the  summer,  while  in  winter  it  often  lies 
twenty  feet  deep,  though  the  orange-tree  is  blooming 
scarce  twenty  miles  away. 

Such  was  the  view  of  the  land  but  a  few  years  ago; 
but  now  valley,  slope,  and  mesa,  and  even  the  moun- 
tain-sides, are  dotted  with  bright  and  beautiful  homes, 
while  villages  and  even  cities  are  rearing  tall  spires 
from  the  lately  bare  plains.  At  the  western  foot  of 
the  mountain  rise  the  steeples  and  housetops  of  San 
Bernardino  from  a  deep  mass  of  green,  among  which 
may  be  seen  the  glitter  of  the  streams  and  the  sparkle 
of  the  artesian  wells  that  have  produced  the  luxuri- 
ance in  which  most  of  the  city  is  lost  to  view.  Nearer 
still  lies  old  San  Bernardino,  a  long  line  of  green  gar- 
dens and  orchards,  vineyards  and  rich  pastures,  with 
Mill  Creek  winding  through  it  beneath  an  arcade  of 
lofty  alders.  Farther  west  stands  Colton,  a  spot  fast 
brightening  upon  a  lately  bare  waste  of  sand;  and  a  few 
miles  beyond  lies  Riverside,  where  the  power  of  water 
has  struck  from  beauty  the  fetters  of  ages  and  made  it 
a  veritable  oasis.  Hundreds  upon  hundreds  of  hand- 
some houses,  embowered  in  every  variety  of  shrub- 
bery, now  rise  amid  orange  and  lemon  groves,  fields 
of  alfalfa,  orchards  where  the  foliage  of  the  apricot, 
prune,  plum,  walnut,  almond,  peach,  or  pear  hide  the 
ground  beneath,  vineyards  where  over  sixty  kinds  of 


20  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

are  growing,  and  the  plots  of  raisin-grapes 
alone  larger  than  many  wheat-fields  of  the  Middle 
States.  And  that  long  silvery  thread  running  far 
along  the  bare  plain  outside,  taken  from  the  Santa 
Anna  River  and  fed  by  the  snow-banks  at  our  side, 
has  done  it  all. 

Along  the  foot  of  the  dark-blue  mountains  that,  roll- 
ing skyward  farther  west,  shut  out  from  view  the 
shore-line  of  the  distant  coast,  lie  the  fair  and  fertile 
meadows  of  Temescal.  Over  these  mountains  toward 
the  coast  lie  the  towns  of  Santa  Anna,  Orange,  Tustin, 
and  Anaheim.  All  these,  like  Riverside,  were  created 
almost  entirely  by  the  same  Santa  Anna  River  that 
starts  here  beside  us,  and  through  a  gorge  in  the  Te- 
mescal Range  winds  to  the  sea.  Farther  to  the  north 
we  get  a  peep  into  the  valley  of  San  Gabriel — only  a 
dim  haze  of  green  in  a  girdle  of  mountains,  although 
its  vineyards  and  orchards  and  green  fields  cover  tens 
of  thousands  of  acres;  and  beyond  lies  the  city  of  Los 
Angeles,  almost  hidden,  like  San  Bernardino,  beneath 
its  trees.  Radiating  for  miles  away  from  it  are  long 
avenues  of  cypress,  eucalyptus,  and  other  tall  green 
trees;  and  between  these  avenues  are  great  orchards 
of  orange  and  lemon  and  every  imaginable  fruit,  amid 
which  stand  thousands  of  houses  surrounded  by  gar 
dens  of  guavas,  pomegranates,  and  other  exotics,  with 
walks  lined  with  maguey  and  palm  and  other  tropical 
vegetation.  Dozens  of  villages,  hamlets,  and  town- 
sites  dot  the  intervening  spaces,  and  everywhere  the 
spirit  of  development  is  at  work.  Farther  north  the 
view  into  Ventura  and  Santa  Barbara  counties  is  in- 


A    GLIMPSE   OF    THE  LAND.  21 

tercepted  by  the  towering  peaks  of  the  fcucamunga 
Range.  The  highest  peak  of  that  range  is  easily 
ascended,  however,  and  there  another  wonderful  view 
opens  below. 

But  to  see  at  its  best  the  loveliest  part  of  Southern 
California  as  improved,  one  must  descend  into  its 
great  valley  of  San  Gabriel.  The  Sierra  Madre  Moun- 
tains that  form  its  northern  wall  rise  with  a  sudden 
sweep  much  higher  above  the  valley  than  most  of  the 
great  mountains  of  our  country  rise  above  the  land  at 
their  feet,  lifting  one  at  once  into  a  different  climate 
and  to  a  country  where  primeval  wildness  still  reigns 
supreme.  Few  parts  of  the  United  States  are  less 
known  and  less  traversed  than  these  great  hills  ;  yet 
they  look  down  upon  the  very  garden  of  all  California. 
Away  up  there  the  mountain  trout  flashes  undisturbed 
in  the  hissing  brook,  and  the  call  of  the  mountain 
quail  rings  from  the  shady  glen  where  the  grizzly 
bear  yet  dozes  away  the  day,  secure  as  in  the  olden 
time.  From  the  bristling  points  where  the  lilac  and 
manzanita  light  up  the  dark  hue  of  the  surrounding 
chaparral  the  deer  yet  looks  down  upon  the  plain 
from  which  the  antelope  has  long  been  driven;  while 
on  the  lofty  ridges  that  lie  in  such  clear  outline  against 
the  distant  sky  the  mountain  sheep  still  lingers,  safe 
in  its  inaccessible  home. 

But  a  few  years  ago  this  valley  of  San  Gabriel  was  a 
long  open  stretch  of  wavy  slopes  and  low  rolling  hills; 
in  winter  robed  in  velvety  green  and  spangled  with 
myriads  of  flowers,  all  strange  to  Eastern  eyes;  in 
summer  brown  with  sun-dried  grass,  or  silvery  gray 


22  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

where  the  light  rippled  over  the  wild-oats.  Here  and 
there  stood  groves  of  huge  live-oaks,  beneath  whose 
broad,  time-bowed  heads  thousands  of  cattle  stamped 
away  the  noons  of  summer.  Around  the  old  mission, 
whose  bells  have  rung  over  the  valley  for  a  century, 
a  few  houses  were  grouped;  but  beyond  this  there 
was  scarcely  a  sign  of  man's  work  except  the  far-off 
speck  of  a  herdsman  looming  in  the  mirage,  or  the 
white  walls  of  the  old  Spanish  ranch-house  glimmer- 
ing afar  through  the  hazy  sunshine  in  which  the 
silent  land  lay  always  sleeping. 

The  old  bells  of  the  mission  still  clang  in  brazen  dis- 
cord as  before,  and  the  midnight  yelp  of  the  coyote 
may  yet  be  heard  as  he  comes  in  from  the  outlying 
hills  to  inspect  the  new  breeds  of  chickens  that  civili- 
zation has  brought  in;  a  few  scattered  live-oaks  still 
nod  to  each  other  in  memory  of  the  past,  and  along 
the  low  hills  far  off  in  the  south  the  light  still  plays 
upon  the  waving  wild-oats;  but  nearly  all  else  has 
changed  as  no  other  part  of  the  world  has  ever 
changed.  Nearly  all  is  now  covered  with  a  luxuriant 
growth  of  vegetation  the  most  diverse,  yet  all  of  it 
foreign  to  the  soil.  Side  by  side  are  the  products  of 
two  zones,  reaching  the  highest  stages  of  perfection, 
yet  none  of  them  natives  of  this  coast.  Immense  vine- 
yards of  the  tenderest  grapes  of  Southern  Spain  or 
Italy,  yielding  five  or  six  tons  to  the  acre,  lie  by  the 
side  of  fields  of  wheat  whose  heads  and  berry  far 
excel  in  size  and  fullness  the  finest  ever  seen  in  the 
famed  fields  of  Minnesota  or  Dakota.  Here  the  bar- 
ley gives  often   a   return   that  no  Northern  land  can 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    THE   LAND.  23 

equal,  and  by  its  side  the  orange-tree  outdoes  its  race 
in  the  farthest  South,  and  keeps  its  fruit  in  perfection 
when  those  of  other  lands  have  failed. 

Gay  cottages  now  line  the  roads  where  so  recently 
the  hare  cantered  along  the  dusty  cattle-trail;  and 
villages  lie  brightly  green  with  a  wealth  of  foliage 
where  the  roaring  wings  of  myriads  of  quail  shook  the 
air  above  impenetrable  jungles  of  cactus.  Houses 
furnished  in  all  the  styles  of  modern  decorative  art 
rise  in  all  directions,  embowered  in  roses,  geraniums, 
heliotropes,  and  lilies  that  bloom  the  long  year  round 
and  reach  a  size  that  makes  them  hard  to  recognize 
as  old  friends.  Among  them  rise  the  banana,  the 
palm,  the  aloe,  the  rubber-tree,  and  the  pampas-grass 
with  its  tall  feathery  plumes.  Perhaps  the  camphor- 
tree  and  a  dozen  other  foreign  woods  are  scattered 
around  them,  while  the  lawns  shine  with  grasses  un- 
known in  other  parts  of  the  United  States.  The  broad 
head  and  drooping  arms  of  the  Mexican  pepper-tree 
fill  along  the  road  the  sunny  openings  that  the  stately 
shaft  of  the  Australian  eucalyptus  has  failed  to  shade; 
and  on  every  hand,  instead  of  homely  fences,  are 
hedges  of  Monterey  cypress,  lime,  pomegranate,  arbor- 
vitae,  or  acacia.  Here  and  there  one  sees  the  guava, 
the  Japanese  persimmon,  Japanese  plum,  or  some 
similar  exotic,  cultivated,  like  the  olive  and  quince 
and  lemon,  for  pleasure  more  than  profit;  but  grapes 
and  oranges  are  the  principal  product.  Yet  there  are 
groves  of  English  walnuts  almost  rivaling  in  size  the 
great  orange-orchards,  and  orchards  of  prunes,  nec- 
tarines, apricots,  plums,  pears,  peaches,  and   apples 


24  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

that  are  little  behind  in  size  or  productiveness.  The 
deep  green  of  the  alfalfa  may  here  and  there  contrast 
with  the  lighter  green  of  the  grape,  but  vineyards  of 
enormous  size,  some  a  mile  square,  make  all  beside 
them  look  small. 


A   NEARER   VIE  IV.  2$ 


CHAPTER  II. 


A    NEARER    VIEW. 


Whoever  comes  to  Southern  California  expecting 
to  see  a  land  all  soft  and  smiling  with  deep-green  pas- 
tures or  waving  grain,  or  full  of  nice,  rich  government 
land  hungrily  awaiting  the  plow,  is  certain  to  be  dis- 
appointed: whether  he  enters  the  land  by  way  of  Fort 
Yuma  and  rides  all  day  over  a  sea  of  barren  sand;  or 
by  way  of  The  Needles,  and  rides  all  day  over  a  wavy 
waste  of  brown  and  gray,  even  more  dreary  than  the 
sand;  or  through  the  San  Joaquin  Valley,  with  its 
long  reaches  of  plain,  bare  and  brown  for  want  of 
water,  and  bounded  by  towering  ranges  of  mountains 
that  defy  all  attempts  at  settlement;  or  whether  he 
enters  it  from  the  sea,  and,  after  coasting  a  long  line 
of  tumbling  hills,  arrives  in  a  vast  expanse  partly 
covered,  perhaps,  with  cactus,  cobble-stones,  or  weary- 
looking  brush,  or  in  some  valley  where  alkali  and  sand 
struggle  for  the  mastery. 

Such  but  a  few  years  ago  were  nearly  all  the  ap- 
proaches to  Southern  California.  Many  of  them  are 
yet  but  slightly  improved,  while  others  never  can  be 
improved.  Taken  as  a  iv/wle,  and  compared  with  such 
States  as  Illinois  or  Kansas,  Southern  California  is 
miserably  poor.  About  one  half  of  it  is  desert,  not 
"desert  only  in  name,"  as  Mr.  Nordhoff  has  said  of 

2 


26  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

some  of  it,  but  pitiless,  uncompromising  reality;  while 
fully  three  fourths  of  the  rest  will  forever  defy  the 
plow.  Yet  nearly  all  that  is  very  barren  or  homely  lies 
upon  the  outside,  and  further  acquaintance  soon  re- 
veals a  large  amount  of  land,  the  richness  and  adapta- 
bility of  which  to  a  wide  range  of  productions  are  far 
beyond  the  conception  of  any  one  accustomed  only  to 
the  Eastern  or  prairie  States.  Nevertheless,  rocky 
and  brushy  hills  and  boulder-studded  mountains  are 
distinctive  features  even  in  the  interior.  And  there 
are  many  who  are  glad  that  it  is  so,  for  it  makes  their 
home  a  wild,  varied,  and  romantic  park  instead  of  a 
dull,  monotonous  vegetable-garden. 

The  soil  is  mainly  composed  of  disintegrated  gran- 
ite— generally  the  soft  red  granite,  though  in  places 
there  is  some  disintegrated  quartz  mixed  with  it. 
Tracts  of  red  or  dark  clay,  known  as  adobe,  are  also 
common.  This  is  the  strongest  of  all  the  soils,  en- 
during cropping  with  wheat  longer  than  any  other; 
although  it  is  harder  to  work,  and  needs  working  in  the 
right  state  of  moisture.  But  the  greater  part  of  the 
land  is  of  decomposed  granite,  and  this  is  not  only 
the  best  fruit  land,  but  for  "all-around"  purposes, 
for  richness,  combined  with  ease  of  working,  easy 
wetting,  easy  drying,  and  retention  of  moisture,  can- 
not be  excelled  anywhere.  Where  very  fine,  it  is  gen- 
erally red;  and  where  quite  coarse  it  is  quite  gray; 
with  every  shade  of  gradation  between  these  two. 
The  richness  of  California  soil  cannot  be  judged  of 
by  the  eye;  soil  that  at  a  careless  glance  appears  to 
be  almost  pure  sand,  or  fine  flakes  of  mica,  being  sur- 


A    NEARER   VIEW.  2 J 

prisingly  rich.  The  reason  of  this  is  that  there  is 
scarcely  any  decay  of  vegetation  to  mix  with  the 
other  elements  and  give  the  soil  the  color  and  appear- 
ance of  rich  land  in  the  East.  Vegetation  dries  up 
and  disappears  by  slow  pulverization,  so  that  in  a 
handful  of  sand  it  can  scarcely  be  noticed  without  a 
magnifying-glass.  Keep  that  same  sand  wet  and 
warm  and  any  seed  planted  in  it  will  show  a  growth 
that  is  surprising.  Sand  even  from  the  river-beds  is 
often  rich.  But  outside  of  the  river-beds  and  bottoms 
there  is  little  that  has  any  sandy  character,  though  if 
dissolved  in  water  the  mica  will  quickly  show  itself  in 
almost  any  soil  but  the  adobe.  There  is  scarcely  a  trace 
of  the  siliceous  sand  of  the  Atlantic  States  anywhere 
in  the  South. 

The  greater  part  of  the  soil  that  is  at  all  arable  is 
distributed  into  plains,  valleys,  and  the  adjacent 
slopes  or  table-lands.  The  slopes  are  generally  gul- 
lied by  water  from  the  hills,  and  the  table-lands — 
called  mesa,  from  the  Spanish  word  for  table — are  cut 
with  large  ravines  as  well  as  small  gullies.  The 
higher  hills  are  generally  untillable,  and  always  will 
be,  though  abounding  in  attractions  for  the  lover  of 
nature. 

A  stranger  cannot  judge  of  even  the  roughest  of 
these  lower  mountains  by  its  appearance  at  a  dis- 
tance. Many  even  of  those  that  seem  mere  ramparts 
of  boulders  rising  tier  upon  tier  for  thousands  of  feet 
are  delightful  places  in  which  to  lounge  away  a  day. 
The  boulders  are  much  farther  apart  than  they  ap- 
pear from  a  distance,  with  plenty  of  rich  soil  between 


23  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

them,  bearing  flowers,  ferns,  and  shrubs  innumerable. 
In  places  the  chaparral  may  be  too  dense  for  com- 
fort, but  there  are  plenty  of  places  where  the  walking 
is  easy  and  pleasant.  Besides  the  little  valleys,  large 
enough  for  a  farm  or  two,  which  they  often  contain, 
they  have  little  parks  from  half  an  acre  to  three  or 
four  or  a  dozen  acres  in  extent.  These  are  generally 
connected  by  old  trails  made  by  the  cattle  in  the  old 
Spanish  days,  when  the  land  was  a  stock-range.  Long 
bunch-grass  rising  above  the  alfileria,  or  burr-clover, 
beneath,  often  covers  half  the  ground  in  them,  bleach- 
ing out  at  the  top  in  summer,  but  starting  out  in  soft 
green  at  the  bottom  with  the  first  rains.  Often  these 
little  parks  are  filled  with  scattered  live-oaks  that 
cover  half  the  ground  with  shade,  or  stand  around  the 
edges  filling  up  the  openings  in  a  barricade  of  boul- 
ders, or  shading  the  head  or  entrance  of  the  little 
pockets  that  run  here  or  there  into  the  chaparral  like 
inlets  in  a  lake.  Sometimes  the  park  is  almost  in- 
closed with  a  wall  of  bright-green  chaparral  higher 
than  one's  head,  dense  and  almost  impenetrable.  And 
in  the  center  of  this  grassy  lake  may  stand  a  pile  of 
granite  boulders,  overshaded  by  a  spreading  live-oak, 
while  the  ivy  trails  over  the  rocks,  and  far  into  the 
autumn  the  scarlet  trumpets  of  the  mimulus  hang 
from  the  chinks  as  brightly  as  in  spring.  There  in 
the  morning  or  evening  one  may  often  see  the  doe 
browsing  on  the  lilac  along  the  edges,  while  the  fawns 
are  capering  with  each  other  beside  her.  And  where 
they  are  rarely  disturbed  one  may  often  see  them 
during  the  middle  of  the  day  lying  under  the  trees, 


A    NEARER   VIEW.  2$ 

like  cattle,  with  heads  and  ears  upraised,  calmly  rumi- 
nating. Or  one  may  be  startled  by  the  crash  of 
brush  beneath  some  huge  buck  as  he  bounds  away 
among  the  rocks,  or  the  roaring  wings  of  hundreds  of 
quails  as  they  scatter  over  the  rocks  or  among  the 
trees  in  clamorous  confusion. 

The  lower  and  more  barren-looking  hills  are  not  to 
be  despised.  They  may  have  no  little  parks,  and  their 
ravines  may  have  at  the  bottom  only  a  deep  cut  or 
wash  of  cobble-stones  and  gravel;  yet  even  there  you 
may  find  the  deer  quite  at  home,  the  quail  perhaps 
more  numerous  than  before,  the  dove  nesting  in  the 
ragged  brush,  the  large  hare  camped  for  the  day  be- 
neath the  sage  along  its  edge,  and  the  gray  and  blue 
rabbit  dodging  about  higher  up ;  while  thrushes, 
finches,  orioles,  wrens,  and  sparrows  are  at  home  along 
the  brushy  sides. 

Even  the  dense  masses  of  cactus  lower  down  and 
nearer  the  coast  are  generally  full  of  life.  There  the 
valley  quail  and  the  little  gray  hare  are  more  at  home 
than  elsewhere,  flying  or  running  at  full  speed  in  or 
out  of  the  thickest  mass  of  sharpest  thorns  without 
injury.  There  the  mocking-bird  may  build  his  nest 
and  help  the  thrushes  fill  the  air  with  song,  while  the 
chaparral-cock  scuds  along  the  ground  outside  the 
cactus.  Even  the  great,  bare  plain,  where  there  is  not 
a  bush  or  tree  or  rock  for  miles,  may  be  alive  with 
busy  tenants.  From  beneath  a  tuft  of  flowers  scarcely 
larger  than  himself,  the  hare  often  bounds  forth  and 
stretches  himself  out  at  a  pace  that  only  a  good  grey- 
hound or  horse  can  equal.     The  badger  and  coyote 


30  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

may  be  seen  early  or  late  in  the  day,  and  their  holes 
are  everywhere  upon  the  plain.  In  every  direction  the 
large  ground-squirrel  is  running,  and  the  burrowing- 
owl  standing  by  its  hole  twisting  its  neck  to  watch 
you.  Here,  too,  are  the  sky-lark,  the  turtle-dove, 
the  meadow-lark,  and  perhaps  the  plover,  and  often 
the  robin  or  bluebird,  far  away  from  the  hills  or 
trees. 

Above  an  elevation  of  four  thousand  feet,  timber  is 
quite  abundant.  Below  that  it  is  limited,  though  once 
much  more  abundant  than  it  now  is.  Though  the  list 
of  strange  herbs,  grasses,  and  shrubs  is  very  large,  the 
list  of  trees  is  quite  small.  You  look  in  vain  for  the 
maple,  hickory,  bass-wood,  gum-tree,  persimmon,  sas- 
safras, birch,  chestnut,  and  many  other  Eastern  and 
Southern  trees.  Along  the  river-bottoms  and  low 
grounds  the  sycamore  is  found  as  clean-limbed, 
tall,  and  stately  as  elsewhere.  The  cottonwood,  too, 
is  common,  though  generally  dwarfed,  scraggy,  and 
full  of  dead  limbs,  and  by  no  means  the  handsome 
tree  that  shades  the  bottom-lands  of  the  Mississippi 
and  its  tributaries.  A  willow  still  more  scraggy,  and 
having  many  limbs  destroyed  with  mistletoe,  is  often 
found  in  the  same  places.  The  elder  rises  above  the 
dignity  of  a  shrub  or  under-shrub,  but  can  hardly  be 
called  a  respectable  tree.  The  ash  is  very  rare  in  the 
South.  There  is  a  native  walnut,  a  small  tree  bearing 
a  small  and  very  sweet  nut  like  a  butternut;  but  this 
is  also  very  rare  now  in  the  South.  Two  varieties  of 
oak  are  common,  and  the  alder  forms  here  a  fine  tree 
along  the  higher  water-courses.     These,  with  Torrey's 


A   NEARER   VIEW.  3  I 

Pine,  form  about  all  below  the  high  mountains  that 
can  be  called  timber. 

Torrey's  Pine  is  limited  to  a  few  square  miles  upon 
the  table-lands  along  the  coast  of  San  Diego  County, 
some  twenty  miles  above  the  Bay  of  San  Diego — the 
only  place  in  the  world  where  it  has  yet  been  found. 
It  is  a  dwarf-pine,  seldom  over  thirty-five  feet  high, 
with  bright  green  needles,  four  or  five  inches  long, 
clustered  in  thin  bunches.  Its  cones  are  very  large, 
with  spurred  lobes,  at  the  base  of  which  is  a  nut 
about  three  fourths  of  an  inch  long  and  one  third  in 
diameter.  Unlike  all  the  other  pine-nuts  of  Califor- 
nia, this  has  a  shell  as  hard  as  a  filbert,  with  a  large, 
full  kernel  as  sweet  as  that  of  a  pecan-nut  or  chest- 
nut and  entirely  free  from  the  slightest  flavor  of  pine. 
These  trees  seem  to  thrive  best  in  the  dry,  rocky 
cliffs  about  three  or  four  hundred  feet  above  the 
sea.  A  few,  protected  by  the  inaccessible  nature 
of  their  home,  still  look  out  upon  the  broad  ocean,  and 
these  are  still  further  protected  from  the  vandal's  ax 
by  a  law  passed  last  year  by  the  supervisors  of  the 
county  imposing  a  fine  of  one  hundred  dollars  for  cut- 
ting one  for  any  purpose.  The  traveler  on  the  Cali- 
fornia Southern  Railroad  may  still  see  near  Del  Mar 
a  few  small,  solitary  survivors  of  what  is  probably 
the  rarest  tree  our  earth  has  ever  produced. 

The  live-oaks  are  now  about  the  only  trees  in 
the  lowlands  that  are  at  all  characteristic.  The 
white  live-oak  has  a  light,  gray,  shaggy  bark,  and  is 
thin  of  limb  as  well  as  of  leaf.  The  leaf  is  small,  ob- 
long, smooth,  and  of  a  light  olive-green.     Its  acorns 


32  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

are  very  short  and  thick,  and  set  in  a  very  thick  cup, 
and  are  rarely  abundant.  While  not  a  very  shapely 
or  handsome  tree,  it  lends  a  pretty  effect  to  mountain 
parks  and  rolling  highlands,  which  seen  from  a  dis- 
tance often  look  like  old  apple-orchards,  and  near 
by  resemble  the  "oak  openings"  of  Wisconsin.  But 
the  principal  oak  of  the  lowlands,  though  found  also 
in  the  mountains,  is  the  black  live-oak,  a  tree  that  in 
its  full  development  would  be  an  ornament  in  any 
country  and  on  any  landscape.  In  the  mature  tree 
the  bark  is  of  a  dark  iron-gray  color,  and  though  rug- 
ged is  not  shaggy.  Very  dense  of  limb  and  still  more 
dense  of  leaf,  it  often  covers  the  ground  with  a  solid 
shade.  Its  broad,  outspreading  arms,  sometimes 
draped  with  long,  gray  moss,  often  cover  a  hundred 
feet  in  diameter;  and  its  dark,  glossy,  spoon-shaped 
leaves  never  change  color  for  heat  or  drought  or  frost. 
Though  it  thrives  best  on  lands  where  the  subterra- 
nean water  is  not  too  deep,  it  still  lives  on  the  hot,  dry 
hill-side;  and  even  on  the  rocky,  arid  point  of  some 
ridge  where  scarcely  anything  known  in  the  Eastern 
States  could  live  for  a  day,  it  often  welcomes  the 
climber  spent  with  heat  and  toil.  There  are  few 
nicer  places  to  pass  the  heat  of  the  day  than  the  car- 
pet of  leaves  beneath  a  veteran  live-oak  with  the  sea- 
breeze  playing  over  one.  The  live-oak  once  covered 
many  of  the  valleys  with  solid  green,  through  which 
one  could  ride  for  miles  in  almost  perpetual  shade. 
But  the  development-fiend  arrived.  The  wasteful 
vandal,  instead  of  trimming  them  for  fire-wood,  cut 
and  slashed  the  fairest,  and  the  monarchs  whose  rings 


A    NEARER   VIEW.  33 

show  that  they  were  old  settlers  when  Columbus  was 
a  schoolboy,  have  had  to  make  way  for  the  potato- 
patch  of  some  petty  "  granger,"  who  is  too  lazy  to 
cultivate  it  after  it  is  planted. 

But  what  the  land  lacks  in  trees  it  nearly  makes 
up  in  shrubs.  And  about  all  of  these  are  evergreen 
and  nearly  all  peculiar  to  California,  bearing  little  re- 
semblance to  anything  East  even  when  of  the  same 
family.  Three  varieties  of  sumac,  reaching  often  as 
high  as  fifteen  or  eighteen  feet,  and  spreading  as  many 
wide,  stand  thick  upon  a  thousand  hill-sides,  and  fill 
with  green  the  driest  and  stoniest  ravines.  Two 
kinds  of  live-oak  bushes,  two  varieties  of  lilac,  one 
with  white,  the  other  with  lavender  flowers,  the  ma- 
drono,, the  coffee-berry,  the  manzanita,  the  wild  mahog- 
any, the  choke-cherry,  all  of  brightest  green,  with  the 
adenostofna  and  baccharis,  two  dark-green  bushes,  look- 
ing like  red  and  white  cedar,  form  what  is  called  the 
chaparral.  Most  of  these  often  reach  a  height  of 
fifteen  feet,  and  form  a  jungle  of  stiff,  ragged, 
prickly  stuff,  unyielding  and  unbreakable,  through 
which  one  can  travel  best  on  hands  and  knees. 
But  often  it  is  not  over  four  or  five  feet  high,  with 
plenty  of  openings  through  which  one  can  easily 
walk.  Hill  and  dale  for  miles  are  sometimes  covered 
with  the  high  dense  growth,  though  much  of  it  has 
of  late  years  been  burned  off.  The  velvet  hue  that 
this  chaparral  gives  the  hills  changes  with  the  sun- 
light through  a  dozen  shades  from  pea-green  on  the 
sunlit  slopes  at  mid-day  to  the  darkest  blue  on  the 
shady  ones  at  evening,  and  is  a  most  restful  change 
2* 


34  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

for  the  eye  from  the  brown  shimmering  plains  or  bare 
red  hills.  Three  varieties  of  dwarf-willow  often  grow 
along  the  water-courses,  and,  with  the  elder,  wild 
grape,  rose,  and  sweet-brier,  all  well  huddled  to- 
gether, the  chinks  filled  with  nettles  and  the  whole 
tied  together  with  long,  trailing  blackberry  vines, 
often  form  an  interesting  subject  of  contemplation  for 
one  who  wants  to  get  on  the  other  side. 

It  is  strange  that  this  land,  where  all  the  fruits  of 
the  temperate  zone,  either  in  the  lowlands  or  moun- 
tains, reach  their  highest  perfection,  while  many  of 
those  of  the  tropics  flourish  beside  them,  should 
have  scarcely  any  wild  fruit  of  its  own.  Yet  there 
is  little  worthy  of  mention.  The  wild  grape  is  worse, 
if  possible,  than  the  Eastern  frost  grape.  There  are 
no  nuts  except  the  pine  nuts,  the  rare  little  walnut  al- 
ready mentioned,  the  acorns,  and  the  chincapin  in 
the  highest  mountains.  A  few  strawberries  are  found 
in  high  mountains;  but  the  strawberry,  blackberry, 
raspberry,  gooseberry,  and  currant  are  generally 
unfertile.  The  wild  plum  is  all  skin  and  pit,  with  lit- 
tle or  no  plum  flavor.  The  gooseberry  and  currant, 
when  they  bear  at  all,  are  dry  and  insipid.  The  raan- 
zanita,  coffee-berry,  and  choke-cherry  are  fit  only  for 
bears  to  cat,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  they  eat  them  from 
preference.  The  only  good  native  wild  fruit  is  the 
tuna,  or  red  fruit  of  the  prickly-pear,  the  large  yellow 
or  Castilian  tuna  being  an  importation  by  the  Mission 
fathers.  This  fruit  is  about  the  size  of  a  fig,  is  very 
juicy,  and  closely  resembles  in  taste  a  mixture  of 
strawberry    and    raspberry.     It    is,    however,   rarely 


A    NEARER   VIEW.  35 

eaten  by  the  Americans,  partly  because  of  its  fine 
spines,  which,  however,  are  easily  removed  by  peeling 
on  a  split  stick,  but  mainly  because  it  is  abundant 
and  costs  nothing. 


36  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 


CHAPTER   III. 

THE   SEASONS. 

There  are  here  but  two  seasons,  neither  of  which 
can  be  exactly  defined,  but  which  are  most  nearly  de- 
scribed as  spring  and  summer.  Spring  is  generally 
called  winter;  but,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  frosty 
nights,  which  can  only  be  when  the  sky  is  clear  and 
the  air  quite  dry,  in  which  case  the  succeeding  day  is 
sure  to  be  warm  and  bright,  there  is  nothing  on  the 
greater  part  of  the  lowlands,  and  especially  along  the 
coast,  that  can  be  correctly  called  winter.  It  is  also 
called  by  many  the  "  rainy  season."  But  this  is  only 
by  way  of  distinction  from  the  long,  dry  summer — 
the  season  when  it  may  rain  enough  to  make  things 
grow,  as  distinguished  from  the  season  when  it  is 
quite  certain  not  to  rain  enough  to  be  worthy  of 
mention.  It  is  not  a  "  rainy  season"  as  that  term 
would  be  understood  in  Illinois  or  New  England. 
From  the  first  to  the  last  rain,  a  period  lasting  in 
seasons  unusually  wet  for  nearly  six  months,  the 
number  of  rainy  days  is  never  equal  to  that  of  a  wet 
spring  and  summer  in  any  of  the  Eastern  States,  and 
too  often  does  not  equal  the  number  of  the  rainy 
days  in  the  driest  six  months  ever  seen  there.  The 
floods  which  happen  occasionally  come  from  heavy 
precipitation  before  there  is  grass  enough  on  the  hills 


THE   SEASONS.  37 

to  hold  back  the  water,  and  not  from  a  long  continu- 
ance of  rainy  days. 

Sometimes  this  season  commences  with  a  fair  rain 
in  November,  after  a  light  shower  or  two  in  October, 
but  some  of  the  very  best  seasons  begin  about  the 
time  that  all  begin  to  lose  hope.  November  adds  its 
full  tribute  to  the  stream  of  sunshine  that  for  months 
has  poured  along  the  land;  and,  perhaps,  December 
closes  the  long  file  of  cloudless  days  with  banners  of 
blue  and  gold.  The  plains  and  slopes  lie  bare  and 
brown;  the  low  hills  that  break  away  from  them  are 
yellow  with  dead  foxtail  or  wild-oats,  gray  with  mus- 
tard-stalks, or  ashy  green  with  chemisal  or  sage. 
Even  the  chapparal,  that  robes  the  higher  hills  in 
living  green,  has  a  tired  air,  and  the  long  timber-line 
that  marks  the  canon  winding  up  the  mountain- 
slopes  is  decidedly  paler.  The  sea-breeze  has  fallen 
off  to  a  faint  breath  of  air;  the  land  lies  silent  and 
dreamy  with  golden  haze;  the  air  grows  drier,  the  sun 
hotter,  and  the  shade  cooler;  the  smoke  of  brush-fires 
hangs  at  times  along  the  sky;  the  water  has  risen  in  the 
springs  and  sloughs  as  if  to  meet  the  coming  rain, 
but  it  never  looked  less  like  rain  than  it  now  does. 

Suddenly  a  new  wind  arises  from  the  vast  watery 
plains  upon  the  southwest;  long,  fleecy  streams  of 
cloud  reach  out  along  the  sky;  the  distant  mountain- 
tops  seem  swimming  in  a  film  of  haze,  and  the  great 
California  weather-prophet — a  creature  upon  whom 
the  storms  of  adverse  experience  have  beaten  for  years 
without  making  even  a  weather-crack  in  the  smooth 
cheek   of   his   conceit — lavishes    his  wisdom  as  con- 


60044 


38  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

fidently  as  if  he  had  never  made  a  false  prediction. 
After  a  large  amount  of  fuss,  and  enough  preliminary 
skirmishing  over  the  sky  for  a  dozen  storms  in  any 
Eastern  State,  the  clouds  at  last  get  ready,  and  a  soft 
pattering  is  heard  upon  the  roof — the  sweetest  music 
that  ever  cheers  a  Californian  ear,  and  one  which  the 
author  of  "  The  Rain  upon  the  Roof "  should  have 
heard  before  writing  his  poem. 

When  the  sun  again  appears,  it  is  with  a  softer, 
milder  beam  than  before.  The  land  looks  bright 
and  refreshed,  like  a  tired  and  dirty  boy  who  has  had 
a  good  bath  and  a  nap,  and  already  the  lately  bare 
plains  and  hillsides  show  a  greenish  tinge.  Fine 
little  leaves  of  various  kinds  are  springing  from  the 
ground,  but  nearly  all  are  lost  in  a  general  profusion 
of  dark  green  ones,  of  such  shape  and  delicacy  of 
texture  that  a  careless  eye  might  readily  take  them 
for  ferns.  This  is  the  alfileria,  the  prevailing  flower 
of  the  land.  The  rain  may  continue  at  inter- 
vals. Daily  the  land  grows  greener,  while  the 
shades  of  green,  varied  by  the  play  of  sunlight  on  the 
slopes  and  rolling  hills,  increase  in  number  and  in- 
tensity. Here  the  color  is  soft,  and  there  bright; 
yonder  it  rolls  in  wavy  alternations,  and  yonder  it 
reaches  in  an  unbroken  shade  where  the  plain  sweeps 
broad  and  free.  For  many  weeks  green  is  the  only 
color,  though  cold  nights  may,  perhaps,  tinge  it  with 
a  rusty  red.  About  the  first  of  February  a  little  star- 
like flower  of  bluish  pink  begins  to  shine  along  the 
ground.  This  is  the  bloom  of  the  alfileria,  and  swiftly 
it  spreads  from  the  southern  slopes,  where  it  begins, 


THE   SEASONS.  39 

and  runs  from  meadow  to  hill-top.  Soon  after  a 
cream-colored  bell-flower  begins  to  nod  from  a  tall, 
slender  stalk;  another  of  sky-blue  soon  opens  beside 
it;  beneath  these  a  little  five-petaled  flower  of  deep 
pink  tries  to  outshine  the  blossoms  of  the  alfileria; 
and  above  them  soon  stands  the  radiant  shooting- 
star,  with  reflexed  petals  of  white,  yellow,  and  pink 
shining  behind  its  purplish  ovaries.  On  every  side 
violets,  here  of  the  purest  golden  hue,  and  of  over- 
powering fragrance,  appear  in  numbers  beyond 
all  conception.  And  soon  six  or  seven  varieties 
of  clover,  all  with  fine  delicate  leaves,  unfold  flowers 
of  yellow,  red,  and  pink.  Delicate  little  crucifers  of 
white  and  yellow  shine  modestly  below  all  these; 
little  cream-colored  flowers  on  slender  scapes  look 
skyward  on  every  side;  while  others  of  purer  white 
with  every  variety  of  petal  crowd  up  among  them. 
Standing  now  upon  some  hillside  that  commands 
miles  of  landscape,  one  is  dazzled  with  a  blaze  of 
color,  from  acres  and  acres  of  pink,  great  fields  of 
violets,  vast  reaches  of  blue,  endless  sweeps  of  white. 
Upon  this — merely  the  warp  of  the  carpet  about 
to  cover  the  land — the  sun  fast  weaves  a  woof  of 
splendor.  Along  the  southern  slopes  of  the  lower 
hills  soon  beams  the  orange  light  of  the  poppy,  which 
swiftly  kindles  the  adjacent  slopes,  then  flames  along 
the  meadow,  and  blazes  upon  the  northern  hillsides. 
Spires  of  green,  mounting  on  every  side,  soon  open 
upon  the  top  into  lilies  of  deep  lavender,  and  the 
scarlet  bracts  of  the  painted-cup  glow  side  by  side 
with  the  crimson  of  the  cardinal-flower.     And  soon 


40  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

comes  the  iris,  with  its  broad  golden  eye,  fringed 
with  rays  of  lavender  blue,  and  five  varieties  of 
phacelia  overwhelm  some  places  with  waves  of  pur- 
ple, blue,  indigo,  and  whitish  pink.  The  evening  prim- 
rose covers  the  lower  slopes  with  long  sheets  of  bright- 
est yellow,  and  from  the  hills  above,  the  rock-rose 
adds  its  golden  bloom  to  that  of  the  sorrel  and  the 
wild  alfalfa,  until  the  hills  almost  outshine  the  bright 
light  from  the  slopes  and  plains.  And  through  all 
this  nods  a  tulip  of  most  delicate  lavender;  vetches, 
lupins,  and  all  the  members  of  the  wild-pea  family 
are  pushing  and  winding  their  way  everywhere  in 
every  shade  of  crimson,  purple,  and  white;  along 
the  ground  the  crow-foot  weaves  a  mantle  of  white, 
through  which,  amid  a  thousand  comrades,  the  or- 
thocarpus  rears  its  tufted  head  of  pink.  Among  all 
these  are  mixed  a  thousand  other  flowers,  plenty 
enough  as  plenty  would  be  accounted  in  other  coun- 
tries, but  here  mere  pin-points  on  a  great  map  of 
colors. 

As  the  stranger  gazes  upon  this  carpet  that  now 
covers  hill  and  dale,  undulates  over  the  table-lands, 
and  robes  even  the  mountain  with  a  brilliancy  and 
breadth  of  color  that  strikes  the  eye  from  miles  away, 
he  exhausts  his  vocabulary  of  superlatives,  and  goes 
away  imagining  he  has  seen  it  all.  Yet  he  has  seen 
only  the  background  of  an  embroidery  more  varied, 
more  curious  and  splendid,  than  the  carpet  upon 
which  it  is  wrought.  Asters  bright  with  center  of 
gold  and  lavender  rays  soon  shine  high  above  the 
iris,  and  a  new  and  larger  tulip  of  deepest  yellow  nods 


THE   SEASONS.  4 1 

where  its  lavender  cousin  is  drooping  its  lately- 
proud  head.  New  bell-flowers  of  white  and  blue  and 
indigo  rise  above  the  first,  which  served  merely  as 
ushers  to  the  display,  and  whole  acres  ablaze  with 
the  orange  of  the  poppy  are  fast  turning  with  the 
indigo  of  the  larkspur.  Where  the  ground  was  lately 
aglow  with  the  marigold  and  the  four-o'clock  the  tall 
penstemon  now  reaches  out  a  hundred  arms  full- 
hung  with  trumpets  of  purple  and  pink.  Here  the 
silene  rears  high  its  head  with  fringed  corolla  of  scar- 
let; and  there  the  wild  gooseberry  dazzles  the  eye 
with  a  perfect  shower  of  tubular  flowers  of  the  same 
bright  color.  The  mimulus  alone  is  almost  enough 
to  color  the  hills.  Half  a  dozen  varieties,  some  with 
long,  narrow,  trumpet-shaped  flowers,  others  with 
broad  flaring  mouths;  some  of  them  tall  herbs,  and 
others  large  shrubs,  with  varying  shades  of  dark  red, 
light  red,  orange,  cream  -  color,  and  yellow,  span- 
gle hillside,  rock  -  pile,  and  ravine.  Among  them 
the  morning-glory  twines  with  flowers  of  purest 
white,  new  lupins  climb  over  the  old  ones,  and  the 
trailing  vetch  festoons  rock  and  shrub  and  tree  with 
long  garlands  of  crimson,  purple,  and  pink.  Over 
the  scarlet  of  the  gooseberry  or  the  gold  of  the  high- 
bush  mimulus  along  the  hills,  the  honeysuckle  hangs 
its  tubes  of  richest  cream-color,  and  the  wild  cucum- 
ber pours  a  shower  of  white  over  the  green  leaves  of 
the  sumac  or  sage.  Snap-dragons  of  blue  and  white, 
dandelions  that  you  must  look  at  three  or  four  times 
to  be  certain  what  they  are,  thistles  that  are  soft  and 
tender  with  flowers  too  pretty  for  the  thistle  family, 


4 2  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

orchids  that  you  may  try  in  vain  to  classify,  and 
sages  and  mints  of  which  you  can  barely  recognize 
the  genera,  with  cruciferae,  compositae,  and  what-not, 
add  to  the  glare  and  confusion. 

Meanwhile,  the  chapparal,  which  during  the  long 
dry  season  has  robed  the  hills  in  somber  green, 
begins  to  brighten  with  new  life;  new  leaves  adorn 
the  ragged  red  arms  of  the  manzanita,  and  among 
them  blow  thousands  of  little  urn-shaped  flowers  of 
rose-color  and  white.  The  bright  green  of  one  lilac 
is  almost  lost  in  a  luxuriance  of  sky-blue  blossoms, 
and  the  white  lilac  looks  at  a  distance  as  if  drifted 
over  with  snow.  The  cercocarpus  almost  rivals  the 
lilac  in  its  display  of  white  and  blue,  and  the  dark, 
forbidding  adenostoma  now  showers  forth  dense 
panicles  of  little  white  flowers.  Here,  too,  a  new 
mimulus  pours  floods  of  yellow  light,  and  high  above 
them  all  the  yucca  rears  its  great  plume  of  purple  and 
white. 

Thus  marches  on  for  weeks  the  floral  procession, 
new  turns  bringing  new  banners  into  view,  or  casting 
on  old  ones  a  brighter  light,  but  ever  showing  a 
riotous  profusion  of  splendor  until  member  after 
member  drops  gradually  out  of  the  ranks,  and  only 
a  band  of  stragglers  is  left  marching  away  into  the 
summer.  But  myriads  of  ferns,  twenty-one  varieties 
of  which  are  quite  common,  and  of  a  fineness  and  deli- 
cacy rarely  seen  elsewhere,  still  stand  green  in  the 
shade  of  the  rocks  and  trees  along  the  hills,  and  many 
a  flower  lingers  in  the  timber  or  canons  long  after  its 
friends  on  the  open  hills  or  plains  have  faded  away. 


THE   SEASONS.  43 

In  the  canons  and  timber  are  also  many  flowers  that 
are  not  found  in  the  open  ground,  and  as  late  as  the 
middle  of  September,  only  twenty  miles  from  the  sea, 
and  at  an  elevation  of  but  fifteen  hundred  feet,  I  have 
gathered  bouquets  that  would  attract  immediate  atten- 
tion anywhere.  The  whole  land  abounds  with  flowers 
both  curious  and  lovely;  but  those  only  have  been 
mentioned  which  force  themselves  upon  one's  atten- 
tion. Where  the  sheep  have  not  ruined  all  beauty, 
and  the  rains  have  been  sufficient,  they  take  as  full 
possession  of  the  land  as  the  daisy  and  wild  car- 
rot do  of  some  Eastern  meadows.  There  are  thou- 
sands of  others,  which  it  would  be  a  hopeless  task  to 
enumerate,  which  are  even  more  numerous  than  most 
of  the  favorite  wild  flowers  are  in  the  East,  yet  they 
are  not  abundant  enough  to  give  character  to  the 
country.  For  instance,  there  is  a  great  larkspur,  six 
feet  high,  with  a  score  of  branching  arms,  all  studded 
with  spurred  flowers  of  such  brilliant  red  that  it  looks 
like  a  fountain  of  strontium-fire:  but  you  will  not  see  it 
every  time  you  turn  around.  A  tall  lily  grows  in  the 
same  way,  with  a  hundred  golden  flowers  shining  on 
its  many  arms,  but  it  must  be  sought  in  certain 
places.  So  the  tiger-lily  and  the  columbine  must  be 
sought  in  the  mountains,  the  rose  and  sweetbrier  on 
low  ground,  the  nightshades  and  the  helianthus  in 
the  timbered  canons  and  gulches. 

Delicacy  and  brilliancy  characterize  nearly  all  the 
California  flowers,  and  nearly  all  are  so  strange,  so 
different  from  the  other  members  of  their  families, 
that  they  would  be  an  ornament  to  any  greenhouse. 


44  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

The  alfileria,  for  instance,  is  the  richest  and  strongest 
fodder  in  the  world.  It  is  the  mainstay  of  the  stock- 
grower,  and  when  raked  up  after  drying  makes  ex- 
cellent hay;  yet  it  is  a  geranium,  delicate  and  pretty, 
when  not  too  rank. 

But  suddenly  the  full  blaze  of  color  is  gone,  and 
the  summer  is  at  hand.  Brown  tints  begin  to  creep  over 
the  plains;  the  wild  oats  no  longer  ripple  in  silvery 
waves  beneath  the  sun  and  wind;  and  the  foxtail,  that 
shone  so  brightly  green  along  the  hill-side,  takes  on  a 
golden  hue.  The  light-lavender  tint  of  the  chori- 
zanthe  now  spreads  along  the  hills  where  the  poppy  so 
lately  flamed,  and  over  the  dead  morning-glory  the 
dodder  weaves  its  orange  floss.  A  vast  army  of  cru- 
ciferse  and  compositse  soon  overruns  the  land  with 
bright  yellow,  and  numerous  varieties  of  mint  tinge 
it  with  blue  or  purple;  but  the  greater  portion  of  the 
annual  vegetation  is  dead  or  dying.  The  distant 
peaks  of  granite  now  begin  to  glow  at  evening  with 
a  soft  purple  hue,  the  light  poured  into  the  deep 
ravines  towards  sundown  floods  them  with  a  crimson 
mist;  on  the  shady  hill-sides  the  chaparral  looks  bluer, 
and  on  the  sunny  hill-sides  is  a  brighter  green  than 
before. 

The  alfileria  and  the  clovers  that  lately  robed  the 
plains  now  lie  along  the  ground  in  a  mat  of 
brown  hay  mingled  with  nutritious  seeds,  the  com- 
bination forming  an  unequaled  fodder;  and  even  the 
tallest  annuals,  like  the  mustard  and  the  nettle, 
succumb  to  the  influence  of  the  season.  Yet  long 
after  the  rains  have  ceased  and  the  sun  rides  high  in 


THE   SEASONS.  45 

the  zenith  the  land  is  by  no  means  as  dreary  and 
brown  as  one  might  suppose.  Theheteromeles  stands 
brightly  green  along  the  hills  the  long  long  year,  now 
drifted  over  with  white  blossoms,  and  in  winter  gay 
with  clusters  of  red  berries  like  the  mountain-ash. 
The  sumac,  too,  is  green  through  the  longest  drought, 
and  in  June  is  all  aglow  with  new  leaves  of  reddish 
tinge,  overwhelmed  with  white  panicles  also  a  little 
tinged  with  red.  The  wild  buckwheat  lights  up  whole 
hill-sides  with  a  bloom  similar  in  color  to  that  of  the 
sumac,  and  the  white  sage  lifts  its  tall  spires  of  gray- 
ish green,  tasseled  with  a  thousand  flowers  of  city- 
milk  blue.  The  great  thorny  arms  of  the  cholla 
cactus  are  now  adorned  with  flowers,  the  broad  lobes 
of  the  prickly-pear  are  studded  with  large  golden 
ones,  while  the  smaller  and  smoother  varieties  rival 
the  others  with  a  profusion  of  large  rose-like  flowers 
of  the  deepest  pink.  Among  the  piles  of  granite  the 
mimulus  still  stands  with  its  trumpet-flowers  of  red 
or  creamy  pink;  the  ivy  twines  itself  among  them,  and 
the  live-oak  spreads  its  broad  green  arms  above  them. 
The  salt-grass,  the  mallow  and  the  wire-grass  keep 
the  low  meadows  as  green  as  ever,  while  near  them 
the  elder  stands  with  its  green  leaves  almost  lost  in 
snowy  bloom.  The  wild  rose  and  sweet-brier  form 
dense  thickets  of  solid  green,  and  above  them  the 
grape  vine  festoons  the  trees  or  overpowers  them  with 
its  long  shady  arms.  The  sycamore,  willow,  cotton- 
wood,  and  other  trees  along  the  dry  bed  of  the  river 
are  now  full  of  lusty  life.  Even  the  dry  sandy  wastes 
are   relieved   by  the  bright  pink  of  the  abronia,  the 


46  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

glistering  leaves  and  whitish  blossoms  of  the  ice-plant, 
or  the  tall  form  of  the  yerba  mama  j  while  from  the 
cracks  of  the  driest  ledges  of  rock  the  cotyledon  sends 
up  its  tall  curving  spike  of  chalky  hue,  full-hung  on 
the  under  side  with  a  fringe  of  long  carmine  trum- 
pets. 

There  is  nothing  about  autumn  here  that  is  at  all 
saddening  or  sentimental.  It  is  only  the  long-linger- 
ing afternoon  of  a  long-lingering  summer  day.  There 
are  dreamy  hazes  and  filmy  atmospheres  enough,  but 
they  are  not  at  all  peculiar  to  autumn.  The  spider 
occasionally  weaves  his  thin  shroud  and  the  gossamer 
rides  the  air,  dead  leaves  rustle  to  the  rabbit's  tread, 
the  crow  caws  from  the  tree-top,  the  jay  jangles  and 
the  quail  pipes;  but  they  have  been  doing  it  all  sum- 
mer, and,  in  truth,  much  of  it  in  spring.  It  is  a  bad 
country  for  "  the  singer,"  although  one  occasionally 
ventures  "a  poem"  in  which  no  one  without  looking 
at  the  title  could  tell  which  season  it  described. 

September  brings  no  change  along  the  rolling  hills, 
except  a  little  ashen  tint  upon  the  ramiria,  and  the 
chorizanthe,  a  paler  brown  upon  the  dodder  that 
clambers  over  the  chemisal  or  buckwheat,  a  grayer 
shade  upon  the  white  sage  and  the  dead  phacelias,  a 
grayer  brown  upon  the  plains  and  table-lands.  Smil- 
ing from  unclouded  skies,  the  sun  passes  the  central 
line,  the  nights  grow  a  trifle  cooler,  the  ocean  breeze 
a  trifle  fresher;  but  instead  of  rain  there  is  merely  a 
drier  air.  The  linnet  and  the  mocking-bird  are  heard 
no  more;  the  cooing  of  the  dove  sounds  more  seldom 
from   the  grove;  the  brooding  call  of  the  quail  has 


THE   SEASONS.  47 

ceased  along  the  hills  and  dales,  and  the  young  coveys 
gather  into  large  bands.  The  mimulus  that  has  lin- 
gered long  among  the  shady  chinks  of  the  granite  piles 
begins  to  close  its  crimson  bugles;  the  ivy  that  twines 
the  oak  above  it  shows  a  strong  tinge  of  scarlet;  the 
sand-verbena  and  other  summer  flowers  begin  to  fade; 
the  wild  gourd  ripens  on  the  low  grounds,  and  the 
meadows  along  the  edge  turn  a  trifle  sere.  But  in 
nearly  all  else  it  is  summer. 

October  comes,  but  the  summer  sun  still  rules  the 
land.  The  low  hills  that  are  free  from  chaparral  grow 
paler  where  the  dead  mustard,  wild  oats,  clover,  al- 
fileria,  and  foxtail  have  so  long  lain  bleaching.  The 
adenostoma  and  cercocarpus,  and  other  chaparral  bushes, 
look  perhaps  a  trifle  weary;  the  green  of  the  sumac 
and  fusica  is  a  little  less  bright  than  in  July;  the  elder 
and  the  wild  buckweat  look  unmistakably  worse  for 
wear,  and  even  the  ever-vigorous  cactus  seems  to 
think  it  has  done  full  duty.  But  all  these  changes 
are  very  slight,  and  would  scarcely  be  noticed  by  the 
casual  observer.  For  the  whole  host  of  bushes  and 
trees  that  cover  the  hills,  the  living  grass  that  covers 
the  moist  lands,  and  the  dead  grass  that  carpets  the 
plains,  all  wear  the  same  general  appearance  as  in  July; 
while  some  plants,  such  as  the  golden-rod  in  the  mead- 
ows, are  just  coming  into  bloom,  and  on  the  dry  lands 
the  baccharis  is  rearing  its  snowy  plumes.  Many  days 
will  now  be  cooler  than  most  of  the  days  of  summer, 
hoar-frost  will  be  found  along  the  mountain  valleys, 
some  skies  will  be  a  little  overcast,  perhaps  rain 
enough  may  fall  to  start  the  weather-prophets;  but  the 


48  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

whole  will  be  soft  and  bright  like  the  sunset  hour  of 
a  lovely  summer  day. 

November:  yet  no  leaden  skies;  no  sodden  leaves 
on  soaking  ground;  no  snow-flakes  riding  on  howling 
blasts;  no  sloughs  of  mud  in  the  roads  to-day  and 
frozen  hummocks  to-morrow;  no  robin  chirping  out  a 
dismal  farewell  high  above  one's  head;  no  fish-ducks 
whistling  down  the  icy  margin  of  the  pond  where  of 
late  the  mallard  quacked;  no  sparrows  sitting  around 
with  ruffled  feathers.  Only  a  little  colder  nights  and 
shorter  days;  only  a  little  frost  along  the  bottoms  of 
the  valleys;  only  a  stiller,  drier  air,  often  clearer  than 
in  summer,  except  where  brush-fires  make  it  thick  or 
hazy.  The  evaporation  being  checked  by  the  longer 
and  cooler  nights,  the  water  rises  in  the  springs  and 
runs  in  places  where  two  months  ago  was  nothing 
but  dry  sand.  The  wild  duck  appears  along  the 
sloughs,  the  honk  of  the  goose  is  heard  again  in  its 
winter  haunts,  the  bluebird  and  robin  come  down 
from  the  high  mountains,  and  the  turtle-dove  almost 
disappears.  The  sycamore  and  cottonwood  begin  to 
look  sere,  the  grape-vine  leaves  are  yellowing,  and  the 
willows  are  fast  fading.  But  in  nearly  all  else  it  is 
still  summer. 

December  comes  at  last,  but  few  would  suspect  it. 
The  nights  are  still  colder,  and  the  hoar-frost  creeps 
higher  up  along  the  slopes  of  the  valleys,  and  thin  ice 
may  form  at  daylight  on  some  of  the  lowest  grounds. 
Yet  the  days  are  nearly  like  those  of  summer,  though 
the  sea-breeze  is  almost  gone,  and  the  wind  comes 
often  from  the  north  and  east.     The  berries  of  the 


THE    SEASONS.  49 

manzanita  are  now  black  and  shining;  the  heteromeles 
is  aglow  with  scarlet  clusters;  the  golden-rod  that 
lately  blazed  along  the  meadows  is  grown  gray  and 
fuzzy;  the  acorns  patter  on  the  roof  beneath  the  spread- 
ing live-oak;  the  plains  look  a  little  grayer,  the  table- 
lands a  little  browner.  But  the  grand  old  oaks,  the 
sumacs,  the  lilac,  fusica,  manzanita,  madrotla, — all  the 
chaparral  bushes,  in  fact, — are  very  nearly  as  green  as 
ever.  We  might  as  well  call  the  whole  of  it  summer, 
for  it  is  only  summer  a  little  worn  out. 

"  How  fearfully  monotonous  all  that  must  be  !"  re- 
marks one  who  has  never  passed  through  it.  "  I  like 
something  positive,  some  distinctive  features  about 
the  seasons.  It  is  so  pleasant  to  sit  by  the  fire  and 
hear  the  snow-storm  howl  without;  sleigh-riding  is  so 
delightful,  skating  is  such  a  luxury!  And  then  the 
winter  air  is  so  bracing  and  sends  the  pulse  bounding, 
and  makes  the  cheek  glow  with  health  !" 

To  which  it  might  be  replied:  There  are  some  things 
that  are  not  always  objectionable  even  when  monot- 
onous; such  things  as  health  and  wealth,  for  instance. 
It  is  possible  that  such  things  appear  monotonous  to 
those  who  do  not  possess  them;  and  also  possible  that 
after  a  thorough  trial  of  them  they  might  change 
their  opinion  of  them.  One  who  has  never  spent  an 
autumn  outside  of  an  umbrella  or  an  overcoat,  and  all 
whose  winters  have  been  largely  spent  sitting  by  the 
fire  and  listening  to  the  raging  of  the  storm  without, 
is  hardly  a  competent  judge  compared  with  one  who 
has  given  both  sides  of  the  case  a  fair  trial,  as  have 
most  of  the  residents  of  California.  At  all  events, 
3 


50  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

there  is  always  one  resource  for  any  one  whom  such 
monotony  troubles, — to  return  to  the  East  and  try  once 
more  those  good  old  days  by  the  fire.  Few  ever  stay 
East  long  enough  to  test  them  again  thoroughly,  and 
from  those  that  do  "monotony"  is  the  last  complaint 
ever  heard  after  their  return  to  California. 


PECULIARITIES  OF    THE    SEASONS.  51 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PECULIARITIES    OF    THE    SEASONS. 

No  two  winters  in  ten  years  are  alike;  no  two  sum- 
mers are  different.  One  summer  may  have  a  slight 
sprinkle  or  two  of  rain,  or  a  few  days  of  intense  heat, 
more  than  another,  but  otherwise  all  are  alike — the 
same  regular  procession  of  bright  days,  month  after 
month.  In  winter  the  fair  and  clear  days  always  pre- 
dominate, even  in  years  of  excessive  rainfall.  But 
beyond  this  the  season  upon  which  all  the  farmer's 
hopes  are  centered  is  all  uncertainty.  It  may  begin 
with  a  rain  that  gives  him  brilliant  prospects,  and 
end  with  a  train  of  bright  days  that  bids  farewell 
to  all  his  hopes;  or  it  may  do  just  the  reverse  and 
overwhelm  him  with  good  fortune,  after  keeping  him 
for  weeks  upon  the  verge  of  distraction;  or  it  may 
take  a  middle  course  and  make  him  jubilant  in  De- 
cember, half  insane  in  January  and  February,  and 
happy  again  in  April. 

The  barometer  is  no  wiser  than  the  weather- 
prophet.  It  will  indicate  the  coming  and  the  ending 
of  a  storm.  And  so  can  the  weather-prophet — occa- 
sionally. But  upon  the  great  question,  Will  it  rain  ? — 
that  is,  rain  enough  to  do  any  good — neither  barometer 
nor  weather-prophet  can  give  any  light.  For  though 
they  call  winter  here    "  the    rainy  reason,"  it  by  no 


52  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

means  follows  that  there  will  be  rain  more  than  just 
"enough  to  swear  by." 

The  private  records  kept  at  Sacramento  and  San 
Francisco  for  thirty-six  years,  the  concurring  testi- 
mony of  all  old  residents  in  the  South,  the  private 
records  maintained  for  over  twenty  years,  and  the  gov- 
ernment records  kept  at  San  Diego  for  eight  years 
fully  establish,  however,  three  facts: 

First,  that  in  three  years  out  of  ten  the  rainfall  in 
the  lowlands  will  be  wholly  insufficient  to  raise  profit- 
able annual  crops  of  any  kind,  or  even  to  make  fair 
crops  on  those  trees  and  vines  that  generally  do  well 
without  irrigation.  Soils  specially  favored  with  un- 
derground water  may  give  profitable  yields  if  well 
cultivated,  but  these  are  the  exception.  A  "  drought," 
"  dry  year,"  "  bad  year,"  or  "  dry  winter,"  as  it  is  vari- 
ously called,  is  a  very  serious  thing;  and  though  its 
weather  may  please  the  most  exacting  invalid,  he  will 
never  want  to  see  another  if  he  has  a  particle  of  sym- 
pathy for  a  sorrowing  land. 

Second,  that  in  two  more  years  out  of  ten  the  rain- 
fall will  be  barely  sufficient;  though  on  land  well 
plowed  the  year  before  and  thoroughly  cultivated 
profitable  crops  may  be  raised,  even  of  corn  and  other 
things  that  grow  only  in  summer,  while  grain  on  all 
land  well  plowed  the  previous  year  will  do  very  well. 
But  land  treated  in  the  old  style  of  farming  will  do  little 
better  in  the  medium  years  than  in  the  very  dry  ones. 

Third,  that  in  about  two  more  out  of  the  ten  years 
the  rainfall  will  be  about  right  for  the  very  best  re- 
sults; in  two  more  it  will  be  a  little  more  than  is  ac- 


PECULIARITIES   OF    THE    SEASONS.  53 

tually  necessary,  but  little  if  any  in  excess;  and  in 
the  remaining  one  it  may  be  considerably  in  excess, 
but  no  more  than  is  necessary  to  keep  up  the  height 
of  the  subterranean  water. 

The  losses  occasioned  in  the  past  by  the  dry  and 
half-dry  winters  have  been  severe.  It  is  now  certain 
that  with  care  and  proper  management  the  losses  in 
ten  years  will  not  exceed,  if  indeed  they  equal,  those 
caused  in  ten  years  by  excessive  summer  rains  and 
summer  droughts  in  Illinois  or  Ohio.  The  farmer  who 
plows  but  two  inches  deep,  and  then  for  a  paltry 
sum  rents  his  stubbles  to  a  sheep-man  to  be  tramped 
as  hard  as  a  brick  by  bands  of  sheep;  who  burns 
tons  of  straw  that,  ripened  without  rain  in  dry  air,  is 
nearly  as  good  as  hay,  merely  to  get  it  out  of  the 
way  of  his  plow;  who  plants  potatoes  and  never  again 
touches  them,  fares  like  the  man  who  overstocks 
his  range  ;  and  the  man  who  plants  corn  so  that  it 
cannot  be  plowed  either  way,  fares  badly.  But  he  is 
fast  passing  away,  and  is,  in  fact,  almost  gone;  though 
the  tendency  still  is  to  forget  that  there  ever  was  a 
dry  winter  whenever  two  good  ones  come  in  succes- 
sion. 

There  is  a  radical  difference  between  the  wet  and 
dry  winters,  that  cannot  be  explained  upon  any  theory 
of  timber  or  chaparral  destruction.  In  a  wet  winter 
it  will  rain — rain  quickly  and  thoroughly  about  every 
time  the  clouds  gather.  In  a  dry  year  they  may 
gather  just  as  often,  hang  as  low,  and  look  as  wet, 
with  the  wind  and  all  other  signs  doing  full  duty;  yet 
days  of  fuss  and  threats  give  nothing  but  an  aggra- 


54  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

vating  patter  for  a  few  moments  on  the  roof,  followed 
by  weeks  of  sunshine. 

Not  only  is  the  rainfall  thus  irregular,  but  it  is 
very  streaked  in  all  years.  The  belts  of  rainfall 
vary  almost  as  much  as  those  of  temperature.  This 
variance  is  generally  due  to  difference  in  elevation. 
But  not  always;  for  some  very  dry  belts  have  an  ele- 
vation above  some  that  are  always  wet  enough.  But 
in  general  the  coast  and  the  country  back  of  it  for 
twelve  or  fifteen  miles,  or  up  to  an  elevation  of  one 
thousand  feet,  has  the  lowest  rainfall.  Most  of  the 
mountains  above  three  thousand  feet  always  have 
enough,  and  in  wet  winters  more  than  they  need. 
The  intermediate  belt  is  generally  about  right,  though 
possibly  a  little  short  in  the  very  driest  winters. 
But  within  these  limits  are  differences  that  cannot  be 
explained,  though  quite  regular.  Without  irrigation 
it  is  useless  to  farm  on  the  very  dry  belts;  for 
though  they  may  do  as  well  as  any  in  wet  winters, 
the  percentage  of  dry  and  half-dry  ones  is  too  heavy 
to  permit  success  in  the  long-run. 

In  wet  winters  the  precipitation  is  generally  heavier 
for  the  same  length  of  storm  than  in  the  Eastern 
States,  and  is  usually  in  the  night,  the  days  being 
generally  half-clear,  often  with  occasional  showers 
and  often  without.  But  in  such  extraordinary  sea- 
sons as  was  that  of  1883-84  there  may  be  a  week  or 
more  of  almost  solid  rain  at  a  time. 

The  mid-day  temperature  of  the  winter  days  in  the 
lowlands  is  always  above  freezing,  and  nearly  always 
so  even  in  the  higher  mountains.     When  it  reaches 


PECULIARITIES   OF    THE    SEASONS.  55 

the  freezing-point  at  all,  or  falls  below  it,  it  is  for  only 
a  short  time  in  the  early  morning,  generally  between 
daylight  and  sunrise,  when  the  temperature  often 
falls  four  or  five  degrees  in  that  short  time, — depend- 
ing upon  the  dryness  of  the  air.  The  temperature  at 
night  is,  however,  influenced  so  much  by  a  little 
change  in  elevation  that  no  one  can  form  any  idea  of 
it  from  any  tables  of  minimum  temperatures.  Val- 
leys that  in  midwinter  are  like  summer  at  mid-day 
are  much  colder  at  night  than  slopes  and  table-lands 
a  hundred  feet  or  more  above  them  that  are  not  as 
warm  during  the  day.  Camping  in  such  valleys  on 
hunting-trips  in  midwinter,  I  have  often  risen  with 
the  first  gray  of  dawn  and  found  the  grass  merely 
wet  with  dew.  By  the  time  I  had  finished  breakfast, 
the  dew  all  around  me,  and  even  oil  my  bed,  would 
be  changed  into  white  frost,  with  perhaps  a  little  ice 
on  shallow  water  in  a  pan  or  trough.  Yet,  cold  as  it 
was,  I  would  have  to  start  out  in  shirt-sleeves,  be- 
cause I  knew  that  by  the  time  I  had  ascended  the 
adjoining  slopes  fifty  feet  there  would  be  no  frost, 
and  in  fifty  feet  more  it  would  be  warm  enough  in 
the  rising  sun  without  a  coat,  and  during  the  day  too 
warm  with  one. 

Herein  lie  two  great  differences  between  this  land 
and  Florida.  In  Florida  a  cold  spell  is  the  edge  of 
a  cold  wave  from  the  north;  and  if  it  freezes  at  all  it 
may  freeze  all  day,  as  it  did  during  the  last  cold  spell 
in  1886,  and  is  always  liable  on  such  occasions  to 
freeze  all  night.  A  freeze  here  is  entirely  local,  hap- 
pening generally,  when  at  all,  before  good  rains  have 


56  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

come,  after  which  white  frosts  may  be  caused  by 
snow  on  the  high  mountains,  but  rarely  much  if  any 
ice.  The  lowest  temperatures  are  caused  only  by  the 
extreme  dryness  of  the  air,  which  during  the  long 
nights  of  December  and  early  January  causes  a  more 
rapid  and  longer-lasting  radiation  of  heat  from  the 
earth,  the  most  rapid  being  after  daylight.  A  fall 
below  fifty  degrees  is  possible  only  on  a  clear  night, 
and  below  thirty-five  degrees  only  on  one  very 
dry  as  well  as  clear.  After  sunrise  these  condi- 
tions have  an  effect  the  very  reverse.  The  sun- 
light falling  through  the  clear  dry  air  has  a  heat- 
ing effect  entirely  unknown  in  damp  air,  and  a 
warm  day  is  certain  to  follow,  and  follow  quickly,  the 
coldest  night.  So  great  is  this  contrast  that  in  some 
valleys  one  can  sit  down  out  of  doors  without  a  coat 
at  nine  o'clock,  though  ice  quarter  of  an  inch  thick 
formed  in  the  horse-trough  but  three  hours  before. 
Another  great  difference  is  that  there  are  certain  ele- 
vations embracing  immense  tracts  of  land  where  even 
hoar-frost  is  practically  unknown,  though  it  may 
freeze  but  half  a  mile  away.  Where  irrigable,  as  most 
of  them  are  in  some  way  or  another,  these  tracts 
form  the  choicest  parts  of  the  country,  being  warmer 
in  winter  and  cooler  in  summer  than  the  valleys. 
Such  tracts  as  the  great  table-land  around  National 
City  will  in  time  be  the  finest  parts  of  California,  and 
produce  more  fine  oranges  than  the  whole  land  now 
does. 

This   short    duration   of  the   freezing  temperature 
explains  a  thing  at  which  many  wonder,  but  which  is 


PECULIARITIES  OF    THE   SEASONS.  $7 

in  reality  very  simple.  Corn,  potatoes,  tomatoes, 
beans,  and  all  things  that  in  the  East  are  killed  by  a 
"black  frost" — a  freezing  temperature  often  without 
dew — will  here  often  stand  a  temperature  that  makes 
even  quarter  of  an  inch  of  ice.  All  vitality,  whether 
animal  or  vegetable,  must  have  some  power  of  resist- 
ing cold,  even  if  there  is  no  actual  generation  of  heat. 
As  a  man  may  endure  for  an  hour  a  degree  of  cold 
that  he  could  not  endure  for  a  day,  so  a  plant  may 
bear  for  ten  or  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  a  tempera- 
ture that  in  an  hour  or  two  would  kill  it.  Whether 
it  is  this  that  has  always  saved  the  orange-trees  here 
or  not,  it  is  certain  that  they  have  never  been  injured 
as  those  of  Florida  have  been  at  different  times.  In 
a  few  of  the  coldest  localities  trees  but  a  year  old 
were  killed  in  the  frosty  nights  of  December,  1879, 
but  old  ones  were  uninjured,  and  in  most  places  none 
were  damaged.  Orange-trees  at  the  mission  of  San 
Gabriel  seventy-five  or  eighty  years  old,  and  the 
old  "Wilson  orchard"  near  by,  forty-five  years  old, 
show  no  sign  whatever  of  having  ever  been  injured. 
And  according  to  the  old  Indian  and  Mexican  resi- 
dents, who  have  no  interest  in  falsifying  about  the 
climate,  they  never  have  been  injured.  Yet  these  are 
on  low  ground  and  almost  under  the  shadow  of  mighty 
mountains  often  heavily  clad  in  snow. 

The  mid-day  temperature  of  the  clear  days  in  win- 
ter is  generally  from  sixty  to  seventy  degrees  on  the 
coast,  and  from  sixty-five  to  eighty  degrees  in  the  in- 
terior. The  mid-day  temperature  of  the  rainy  days  is 
about  the  same  in  both — from  fifty-five  to  sixty-five 
3* 


58  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

degrees,  generally  about  sixty.  The  lowest  mid-day 
temperature  recorded  at  the  U.  S.  Signal  Station  at  San 
Diego  during  eight  years  is  fifty-one  degrees.  This  oc- 
.  mred  but  once.  In  those  eight  years  there  were  but 
twenty-one  days  when  the  mid-day  temperature  was 
not  above  fifty-five  degrees.  In  that  time  there  have 
been  but  six  days  when  the  mercury  fell  below  thirty- 
six  degrees  at  any  time  in  the  night,  and  but  two 
when  it  fell  to  thirty-two  degrees — the  lowest  point 
fever  reached  there.  On  one  of  the  two  last-named 
days  it  went  to  fifty-one  degrees  at  noon,  and  on  the 
other  to  fifty-six  degrees.  This  was  in  the  great 
"cold  snap"  of  December,  1879.  In  the  interior  it 
would  fall  a  little  lower  at  daylight,  and  rise  several 
degrees  higher  at  noon. 

A  comfortable  summer  in  a  latitude  so  low  and  with 
such  warm  winters  is  the  last  thing  that  strangers 
expect,  yet  it  is  the  greatest  surprise  to  those  that  ven- 
ture to  remain.  But  when  one  reflects  for  a  moment 
it  can  easily  be  seen  how  a  land  so  dry  must  be  quite 
free  from  malaria  ;  how  a  dry  air  must  make  cool 
nights,  and  be  less  oppressive  by  day — keeping  the 
skin  dry;  how  a  breeze  from  the  sea  must  always 
follow  the  rising  of  the  sun  ;  and  how  that  breeze 
reaching  the  trade-wind  cooled  by  the  edge  of  the 
current  from  Behring's  Straits  must,  on  the  coast  at 
hast,  be  cool. 

By  the  sea  the  difference  between  the  mid-day 
temperatures  of  winter  and  summer  is  hardly  above 
ten  degrees,  and  in  the  interior  little  if  any  above 
fifteen.     At  San  Diego  there  have  been  but  forty-one 


PECULIARITIES  OE    THE   SEASONS.  59 

days  in  eight  years  when  the  mercury  passed  eighty- 
five  degrees,  but  twenty-two  when  it  passed  ninety 
degrees,  but  four  when  it  passed  ninety-five  degrees, 
and  but  one  when  it  passed  one  hundred  degrees — 
one  hundred  and  one  being  the  highest. 

In  the  interior  any  given  day  will  be  warmer  at 
mid-day  than  on  the  coast,  though  cooler  at  night. 
Yet  the  number  of  days  in  summer  even  there  when 
the  mercury  does  not  pass  seventy-five  degrees 
would  surprise  any  one.  At  Oakwood  U.  S.  Signal 
Station,  fourteen  miles  from  the  coast  and  only  seven 
hundred  and  seventy  feet  above  the  sea,  the  ther- 
mometer in  five  years  reached  one  hundred  degrees 
but  twenty-three  times,  and  ninety-five  degrees  but 
twenty-nine  times  (exclusive  of  the  other  twenty- 
three  at  one  hundred  degrees).  This  fairly  represents 
the  heat  of  the  interior,  there  being  of  course  places 
where  it  is  greater,  and  others  where  it  is  less.  The 
temperatures  much  over  one  hundred  degrees  come 
only  at  intervals  of  several  years,  with  a  dry  desert 
breeze,  and  last  but  three  or  four  days.  Though  so 
intensely  dry  and  breezy  that  sunstroke  is  unknown, 
they  are  still  quite  infernal — to  be  plain  about  it. 
But  the  owner  of  a  thick  adobe,  stone,  or  brick  house 
who  leaves  it  open  all  night  and  shuts  it  up  about 
ten  or  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  can  sit  within  and 
smile  at  the  worst  of  these  siroccos,  for  the  nights  are 
still  very  cool  and  the  heat  does  not  last  more  than 
eight  hours.  At  such  times  it  may  reach  (in  the  in- 
terior only)  the  pleasant  little  figure  of  one  hundred 
and  fifteen  degrees,  and  on  extra  occasions  one  hun- 


6o  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

dred  and  twenty  degrees,  at  noon;  falling  generally 
to  eighty  degrees  by  sundown,  and  seventy  degrees 
at  bedtime.  One  who  has  noticed  the  difference  be- 
tween dry  hot  weather  and  hot  damp  weather  in  the 
East  can  understand  how  such  days,  with  a  breeze 
of  ten  miles  an  hour  and  but  five  or  six  per  cent  of 
moisture  in  the  air,  with  cool  nights,  may,  though 
very  uncomfortable,  have  nothing  oppressive  or  pros- 
trating about  them.  Such  is  the  case:  and  harvest 
work,  teaming,  and  all  else  goes  on  the  same  as  usual, 
the  only  difference  being  in  the  amount  of  profanity 
— which,  if  ever  excusable,  certainly  is  at  such  times. 

The  difference  between  extremely  hot  weather  here 
and  in  the  East  may  be  summed  up  as  follows  : 
There  is  nothing  especially  amusing  about  it  in  either 
place.  Here,  the  temperature  is  higher,  yet  it  pro- 
duces no  sunstroke  or  hydrophobia ;  and  no  bowel- 
complaints  either  among  children  or  adults.  There, 
one  who  has  nothing  to  do  but  seek  comfort  often 
fails  to  find  it:  a  heavy  house  once  heated  through  is 
worse  than  out  of  doors;  even  at  the  sea-coast  it  may 
be  as  sweltering  as  it  is  inland.  Here  one  may  al- 
ways find  comfort  at  the  coast ;  and  inland  too,  if 
under  a  tree,  or  on  the  shady  side  of  a  house  where 
there  is  a  breeze,  or  inside  of  heavy  houses  of  adobe 
or  stone  which  have  been  kept  open  at  night. 

The  deserts  that  lie  upon  the  Arizona  and  Sonora 
rain-belt  are  rainy  in  summer  and  dry  in  winter; 
but  the  amount  of  rain  they  receive  is  slight,  and 
limited  to  a  few  thunder-showers  in  July  and  August. 
The  edge  of  one  of  these  showers  occasionally  reaches 


PECULIARITIES   OF    THE    SEASONS.  6 1 

over  the  high  mountain-barriers  on  the  west,  and  per- 
haps gives  even  the  coast  a  light  sprinkle,  and  at 
long  intervals  a  heavy  one.  With  this  exception  the 
summers  are  absolutely  rainless  for  five  or  six  months, 
and  often  for  seven  or  eight.  Though  thunder  may 
possibly  be  heard,  and  lightning  seen,  in  the  distant 
mountains  at  such  times,  they  come  no  farther  except 
at  intervals  of  many  years,  when  one  may  for  an  hour 
or  two  be  reminded  of  the  old  Eastern  home.  Occa- 
sionally a  little  faint  lightning  may  be  seen  in  win- 
ter; but  with  this  exception  lightning  is  unknown, 
and  a  lightning-rod  cannot  be  found  in  the  land. 

Residents  here  are  in  the  habit  of  telling  strangers 
when  they  express  surprise  at  a  fog  that  it  is  "  very 
exceptional."  "  Exceptional "  is  a  very  unfortunate 
word  to  use.  It  at  once  excites  suspicion  in  one  who 
has  traveled  for  climate,  for  he  hears  it  all  over  the 
world  where  climate  is  an  article  of  merchandise. 
There  is  nothing  very  exceptional  about  a  fog  on  or 
near  any  sea-coast,  or  near  any  large  body  of  water,  in 
the  temperate  zone,  and  it  is  strange  how  anybody  can 
think  there  is.  Fogs  are  indeed  not  common  here; 
nevertheless  we  have  them.  They  grow  less  and  less 
all  the  way  from  San  Francisco  down,  especially 
after  passing  Point  Conception.  Yet  they  are  still 
found  occasionally  far  down  into  Lower  California. 
They  are,  however,  entirely  different  from  anything 
in  the  East.  A  land  fog  and  an  ocean  fog  lasting  all 
day  inland  are  both  unknown.  The  fog  is  here  a 
bank  or  cloud  arising  from  the  sea  in  peculiar  condi- 
tions of  the    respective  temperatures  of   the  air  and 


62  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

water.  The  bank  is  about  one  thousand  feet  thick, 
lies  out  on  the  water  all  day  and  moves  in  at  evening 
— when  it  comes  at  all,  for  often  it  does  not  come  in. 
Sometimes  it  comes  before  sundown,  generally  a 
little  after.  It  rolls  out  again  soon  after  sunrise.  It 
has  the  strange  feature  of  moving  in  against  a  breeze 
— the  land-breeze — and  moving  out  against  another — 
the  sea-breeze.  Occasionally  it  appears  to  form  in- 
land around  the  high  hill-tops  at  evening;  but  the 
vapor  is  from  the  fog-bank  on  the  sea,  and  rolls  out 
in  the  morning  as  usual.  The  elevation  of  the  lower 
edge  of  this  bank  varies  from  sea-level  to  twelve 
hundred  feet,  though  sometimes  it  is  much  higher. 
When  it  is  high  the  lower  levels  are  dry  all  night,  and 
it  appears  like  a  dry  cloudy  night,  but  the  hills  that 
reach  into  it  will  have  their  chaparral  wet  with  it. 
When  it  is  low  it  makes  things  damp  along  the 
coast,  yet  at  fifteen  hundred  feet  of  elevation  the  sun 
rises  like  a  ball  of  fire,  and  the  dweller  on  the  middle 
levels  looks  down  upon  a  broad  sea  of  snowy  fleece 
with  a  few  dark  hill-tops  floating  like  islands  upon  it. 
And  soon  he  sees  it  break  beneath  the  sun  and  roll 
seaward  in  a  thousand  tumbling  lines  of  cloud;  for 
a  foggy  night  is  quite  sure  to  be  followed  by  a  bright 
day  inland,  though  immediately  on  the  coast  it  may 
sometimes  linger  until  near  noon.  Fogs  are  most 
numerous  in  spring,  and  when  accompanied  by  cool 
and  often  by  cloudy  weather  for  a  time,  they  aid  the 
filling  of  the  wheat  into  that  grain  of  marvelous  full- 
ness that  characterizes  the  best  wheat  of  this  coast. 
And   in    some  years    they  are    the    salvation    of   the 


PECULIARITIES   OE    THE   SEASONS.  63 

crops.  Sometimes  many  months  pass  without  any, 
and  then  they  may  come  every  night  for  a  fortnight 
or  more.  On  the  whole,  they  do  much  good  and  no 
harm  except  in  the  fancy  of  the  whimsical  invalid. 

Perhaps  the  most  remarkable  feature  of  the  whole 
year  is  the  entire  absence  of  all  dangerous  winds,  and 
the  almost  entire  absence  even  of  unpleasant  ones. 
One  would  think  that  the  combined  efforts  of  a 
great  ocean,  great  mountains,  plains  and  valleys,  all 
varying  widely  in  temperature,  could  at  some  time  of 
the  year  raise  a  respectable  gale.  But  it  is  not  so. 
With  the  exception  of  a  few  little  eddies  moving  but 
four  or  five  miles  an  hour  over  the  larger  plains  in 
summer,  there  is  absolutely  nothing  in  the  way 
of  cyclone,  whirlwind,  or  tornado;  and  hurricanes  and 
heavy  gales  are  equally  wanting.  The  "  norther"  is 
here  a  dry  wind  from  the  desert,  generally  warm  or 
hot,  never  cold,  though  sometimes  cool,  always  exces- 
sively dry,  and  with  an  unclouded  sky.  It  is  rarely 
over  twenty  miles  an  hour  and,  except  in  a  few  moun- 
tain-passes where  it  comes  through,  and  elevated  val- 
leys lying  in  its  course,  it  never  exceeds  thirty  miles, 
and  nowhere  exceeds  forty.  It  is  limited  to  about 
twenty  or  thirty  days  in  the  year,  and  is  never  un- 
pleasant unless  too  hot  or  strong  enough  to  carry 
grit  or  sand.  In  some  places  it  comes  from  the  east, 
but  is  the  same  wind.  There  are  many  places  where 
it  is  never  felt  except  by  its  extreme  dryness. 

With  the  exception  of  the  "  norther,"  the  only 
winds  are  the  regular  sea-breeze  and  the  rain-bearing 
winds.     The  latter  are  from  the  south,  south-west  or 


64  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

south-east.  Occasionally  a  rain  comes  from  the  east 
or  north-east,  and  if  it  ever  does  start  from  either  of 
these  directions  it  is  liable  to  wet  something  before 
it  finishes. 

Full  records  of  the  wind  at  the  San  Diego  Signal 
Station  have  been  kept  for  eight  years.  In  that  time 
the  highest  wind  registered  at  San  Diego  was  but 
forty  miles  an  hour,  and  that  but  once.  In  the  classi- 
fication of  winds  forty  miles  an  hour  is  only  "  high 
wind,"  being  much  below  "  gale"  and  "  storm." 
During  those  eight  years  it  exceeded  twenty  miles 
an  hour  but  one  hundred  and  fifty  times,  or  about 
nineteen  times  a  year.  Of  these  one  hundred  and 
fifty  there  were  but  forty-seven  that  exceeded  twenty- 
five  miles  an  hour,  but  thirteen  over  thirty,  but  five 
above  thirty-one,  and  only  one  above  thirty-six.  In 
sheltered  valleys  like  El  Cajon,  these  figures  would 
be  considerably  less;  while  in  others  more  exposed 
to  the  desert  passes  they  would  be  somewhat  higher. 
But  these  figures  fairly  represent  the  whole  country, 
and  it  may  be  considered  certain  that  a  fifty-mile 
wind  has  never  been  felt  in  any  part  of  it,  and  that 
anything  over  thirty  is  extremely  rare  anywhere. 

The  sea-breeze  blows  about  four  fifths  of  the  year. 
In  winter  it  is  very  light,  often  but  two  or  three 
miles  an  hour,  while  its  place  is  often  taken  for 
weeks  at  a  time  by  a  dry  land-breeze.  In  summer  it 
is  about  eight  or  ten  miles  an  hour,  just  strong 
enough  for  comfort,  but  not  enough  to  raise  dust. 
In  either  season  it  is  caused  mainly  by  the  suction  of 
the  heated  air  rising  from  the  land,  though  in  sum- 


PECULIARITIES  OF    THE   SEASONS.  65 

mer  it  unites  with  what  little  is  left  in  this  low  lati- 
tude of  the  trade-wind  of  the  Pacific,  so  harsh 
at  San  Francisco.  This  breeze  is  worthy  of  a  special 
study,  to  see  why  it  is  that  a  wind  coming  from  the 
broad  Pacific  should  be  drier  than  the  dry  land- 
breezes  of  the  Atlantic  States,  causing  no  damp 
walls,  swelled  doors,  or  rusting  of  guns;  and  even  on 
the  coast  drying  up  without  salt  or  smoke,  meat  cut 
in  strips  an  inch  thick,  and  fish  much  thicker. 
Though  mean  figures  taken  by  a  wet-bulb  ther- 
mometer may  show  little  difference  on  account  of 
the  humidity  at  night  on  the  coast,  these  facts,  which 
show  the  dryness  of  the  breeze  by  day,  are  incon- 
testable. But  a  few  miles  inland  meat  two  or  three 
inches  thick  hung  up  in  this  breeze  cures  without 
any  antiseptic,  and  the  skin  of  a  person  not  exer- 
cising is  dry  beneath  woolen  clothes.  There  are  of 
course  times  on  the  coast  when  the  air  contains 
plenty  of  moisture.  But  with  the  rising  of  this 
breeze  the  moisture  decreases  instead  of  increasing. 
It  can  be  studied  best  from  a  mountain-top. 

The  summit  of  Mt.  Cuyamaca  is  six  thousand  five 
hundred  feet  above  the  sea;  and  though  the  view 
is  not  so  extensive  as  that  from  the  higher  mountains, 
it  has  a  fuller  and  nearer  combination  of  all  the  natural 
features  of  the  land.  But  it  is  not  this  alone  that 
makes  the  view  attractive.  It  is  not  the  great  ocean 
lying  beneath  the  afternoon  sun  like  a  long  golden 
cloud  on  the  western  horizon;  nor  the  great  chasms 
that  yawn  thousands  of  feet  deep  just  below  one's 
feet,  divided    by    high    rolling    ridges,    ragged    with 


66  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

rocks,  smooth  with  grass,  or  green  with  trees;  nor  the 
great  shimmering  sea  of  sand  on  the  east,  with  Yuma 
broiling  on  its  eastern  verge;  nor  the  deep  forests  all 
around  one,  where  the  sugar-pine  and  the  yellow- 
pine,  the  silver-fir  and  the  white  cedar,  are  standing 
in  a  dense  mass  of  dark  green  through  which  one 
can  hear  the  sigh  of  the  breeze;  while  lower  down  the 
red  oak,  live-oak,  and  mountain  white  oak  fill  up  the 
vacant  places.  It  is  rather  the  rare  combination  of 
the  old  and  the  new,  the  rugged  and  the  soft,  the 
wild  and  the  tame.  A  hundred  miles  away  our 
former  acquaintance,  "  Old  Gray  Back  "  of  the  San 
Bernardino  range,  looms  with  snowy  scalp  two  miles 
into  the  northern  sky,  with  San  Jacinto  and  Cuca- 
munga  but  a  trifle  lower  beside  it,  while  between  lies 
the  long,  high  line  of  gray  and  blue  mountains  that 
separates  the  western  part  of  San  Diego  County  from 
the  desert.  On  the  south  the  lofty  range  continues 
dark  with  pine  and  other  trees,  broken  by  bright, 
green  valleys  and  deep-blue  ravines,  stretching  far 
away  into  Mexico  in  range  after  range,  clad  in  timber 
or  bluish-green  chaparral,  or  gray  with  ancient 
granite;  a  vast  reach  of  primeval  solitude.  Almost 
beneath  us  on  the  north-east  is  a  mining-belt  where 
millions  of  gold  yet  lie  concealed;  and  from  the  oak 
and  pine  clad  knoll  in  the  midst  of  green  meadows 
where  hundreds  of  cattle  are  feeding  comes  the 
thunder  of  the  iron  stamps  in  the  mill  where  the 
solid  rock  is  being  pulverized  to  reach  the  gold. 
Below  on  the  north-west  lie  rolling  slopes  golden- 
hued   with    ripened    grass,  and    scattered    over  them 


PECULIARITIES   OF    THE   SEASONS.  6j 

thousands  of  oaks  like  vast  orchards;  and  in  the  val- 
leys between  them  are  farms  where  the  finest  of 
fruits  are  growing  and  where  grain  crops  never  fail. 
Lower  down  are  broad  plains  with  thousands  of 
acres  golden  with  grain  or  stubbles,  separated  by 
high  ranges  of  boulder-clad  hills  or  deep  canons, 
filled  with  eternal  shadow,  or  broad  rolling  table- 
lands covered  with  chaparral.  On  all  sides  rise  lofty 
mountains  near  by  us;  some  like  Volcan  and  Palo- 
mar,  almost  as  lofty  as  Cuyamaca,  crowned  with 
forests,  breaking  away  in  long  yellow  ridges  clad  in 
grass  along  the  backs  and  sides,  with  dark  timber- 
filled  gulches  between  them;  others  lower,  like  the 
great  granite  dome  of  El  Cajon  or  Lyon's  Peak. 
And  the  whole  land  is  tumbling,  tumbling,  tumbling, 
on  the  north  and  on  the  south  and  on  the  west,  tum- 
bling in  long  alternations  of  hills  and  slopes  and  val- 
leys away  to  the  distant  coast. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  how  a  land  thus  rising  a 
mile  or  more  in  fifty  or  sixty  miles,  rising  away  from 
the  coast  and  falling  off  abruptly  a  mile  deep  into 
the  driest  and  hottest  of  American  deserts,  could  have 
a  great  variety  of  climates.  And  such  the  county  of 
San  Diego  has,  bearing  the  same  relation  to  Cali- 
fornia that  California  does  to  the  rest  of  the  Union — 
a  land  of  climates  within  another  land  of  climates. 
Only  ten  miles  away  on  the  east  the  summers  are  the 
hottest,  and  only  sixty  miles  on  the  west  the  coolest, 
known  in  the  United  States  (except  upon  this  coast), 
and  between  these  is  every  combination  that  moun- 
tains and  valleys  can  produce. 


63  .si '  U  '1  HEX  A '  CA  LIFORNIA . 

And  here  it  is  easy  to  see  whence  comes  the  sea- 
breeze,  the  great  glory  of  the  California  summer.  It 
is  passing  us  here,  a  gentle  breeze  of  six  or  eight 
miles  an  hour.  It  is  flowing  over  this  great  ridge 
directly  into  the  immense  basin  of  the  Colorado 
desert,  six  thousand  feet  deep,  where  the  temperature 
is  probably  one  hundred  and  twenty  degrees,  and  per- 
haps higher.  For  many  leagues  on  either  side  of  us 
this  current  is  thus  flowing  at  the  same  speed,  and  is 
probably  half  a  mile  or  more  in  depth.  About  sun- 
down, when  the  air  over  the  desert  cools  and  de- 
scends, the  current  will  change  and  come  the  other 
way  and  flood  these  western  slopes  with  an  air 
as  pure  as  that  of  the  Sahara,  and  nearly  as  dry. 
The  air  heated  on  the  western  slopes  by  the  sun 
would  by  rising  produce  considerable  suction,  which 
could  be  filled  only  from  the  sea  ;  but  that  alone 
would  not  make  the  sea-breeze  as  dry  as  it  is.  The 
principal  suction  is  caused  by  the  rising  of  heated 
air  from  the  great  desert.  This  cannot  flow  over 
eastward,  because  a  still  greater  volume  equally  hot 
is  rising  from  the  fiery  furnace  of  Arizona;  nor  on  the 
north,  for  there  lies  the  greater  desert  of  the  Mojave. 
Some,  doubtless,  goes  out  over  the  Gulf  of  California, 
but  that  is  quite  narrow,  and  is  already  overworked 
with  cooling  off  the  heated  air  from  Sonora  and  the 
eastern  slopes  of  the  mountains  of  Lower  California. 
The  greater  part  must  flow  over  in  a  high  stratum 
upon  the  west,  that  being  the  coolest  place  surround- 
ing it.  It  soon  reaches  the  ocean,  and  once  over  that 
its  course  is  easy  to  determine.     It  is  quickly  cooled 


PECULIARITIES  OP    THE   SEASONS.  69 

off,  and  descends  to  be  carried  back  again  by  the  suc- 
tion produced  by  the  air  rising  from  the  desert  and 
on  the  western  slopes  of  the  county.  Hence,  instead 
of  being  a  wind  born  of  the  sea,  the  sea-breeze  is  here 
a  mere  undertow,  a  vast  returning  wave  of  air,  most  of 
which,  in  its  circuit,  reaches  the  desert  and  mingles  with 
its  dry  breath.  The  lowest  stratum  is,  of  course,  moist- 
ened somewhat  by  its  contact  with  the  sea;  but  after 
passing  a  few  miles  overland,  this  is  mingled  with 
the  strata  above  and  there  is  no  more  moisture  left 
than  comfort  and  vegetation  require.  The  reversal 
of  this  breeze  at  night,  when  the  air  over  the  desert 
cools  faster  than  that  on  the  western  slopes  on  ac- 
count of  more  rapid  radiation  through  drier  air,  is 
alone  sufficient  to  show  its  cause  by  day.  But  it  is 
still  farther  shown  at  times  by  the  smoke  of  chapar- 
ral fires  which  goes  eastward  more  and  more  slowly 
as  it  rises,  finally  comes  to  a  standstill  at  about  a  mile 
and  a  half  high,  and  then  what  little  is  left  of  it  be- 
gins to  move  westward  again;  though  one  must  be 
on  a  high  mountain  to  see  this  latter  feature.  And 
on  the  top  of  Old  Gray  Back  one  can  feel  it  setting 
westward,  while  in  the  canons  six  thousand  feet  below 
it  is  blowing  eastward. 

All  over  Southern  California  the  conditions  of  this 
breeze  are  about  the  same,  the  great  Mojave  desert 
and  the  valley  of  the  San  Joaquin  above  operating 
in  the  same  way,  assisted  by  the  interior  plains  and 
slopes.  Hence  these  deserts,  that  at  first  seem  to 
be  a  disadvantage  to  the  land,  are  the  great  condi- 
tions of  its  climate,  and  are  of  far  more  value  than  if 


70  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

they  were  like  the  prairies  of  Illinois.  Fortunately, 
they  will  remain  deserts  forever.  Some  parts  will  in 
time  be  reclaimed  by  the  waters  of  the  Colorado 
River;  but  wet  spots  of  a  few  hundred  thousand 
acres  would  be  too  trifling  to  affect  general  results, 
for  millions  of  acres  of  burning  desert  will  forever 
defy  all  attempts  at  irrigation  or  settlement. 


A    WINTER   STROLL.  J I 


CHAPTER   V. 


A       WINTER      STROLL. 


A  stroll  in  spring  through  some  of  the  smaller 
valleys  of  Southern  California  fills  with  surprise  even 
the  most  stolid  of  those  whose  world  is  limited  by  the 
pavement.  Surely  nothing  could  be  fairer  or  fresher 
than  such  valleys  as  Montserrate,  when  the  full  bloom 
of  spring  is  upon  it;  when  the  hills  are  aglow  with 
orange  and  pink,  and  the  valley  with  purple  and  gold; 
when  thousands  of  bees  and  gay  but  harmless  insects 
are  humming  through  the  soft  warm  air;  yet  only 
twelve  miles  from  where  the  snow  lies  cold  and  shin- 
ing on  the  pine-clad  heights  of  Palomar.  Everywhere 
the  dark  plume  of  the  quail  nods  among  the  beds  of 
violets;  his  call  rings  far  up  the  hill-side,  where  the 
granite  crags  are  almost  covered  with  garlands  of 
crimson  and  white,  and  he  bursts  with  whizzing  wing 
from  the  tangle  of  wild-roses  and  grapevines  along 
the  river-bottoms,  from  the  masses  of  phacelias  that 
cover  the  fallen  brush,  and  from  the  nettles  and  night- 
shades that  rival  the  arrow-grass  in  height. 

Out  of  the  little  ponds  and  sloughs  the  mallard 
rises  with  vigorous  quacks  in  a  whirl  of  burnished 
green  and  cinnamon,  the  red  head  and  white  sides  of 
the  canvas-back  shining  beneath  its  throbbing  wings 
as  it  climbs  the  air  beside  him,  and  both  are  attended 


72  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

by  a  body-guard  of  widgeon  and  teal,  sprig-tails  and 
red-heads,  all  in  a  wild  medley,  that,  circling  a  few 
times  around  one,  set  their  wings  and  glide  down  into 
the  next  pond  below,  while  a  score  or  more  of  mud-hens 
scatter,  flapping  and  squealing,  into  the  rushes  around 
the  pond.  There  the  rail  comes  out  at  times  and  runs 
along  the  shore,  and  perhaps  the  large  king-rail  rises 
in  flight  above  the  reeds,  while  up  and  down  the 
slough  a  score  or  more  of  rails  utter  their  shrill  cry  at 
the  sound  of  one's  gun.  The  glossy  ibis  may  stand 
along  the  shore,  where  the  English  snipe  is  probing 
the  soft  mud  with  his  long  bill,  and  the  killdeer-plover 
may  trot  about  with  plaintive  call;  while  snowy  egrets 
both  large  and  small,  stand  with  the  bittern  and  blue 
heron  fishing  together. 

On  such  mornings  even  the  door-yard  of  the  ranch- 
house  is  alive.  From  the  orange-tree,  where  the 
golden  fruit  hangs  beside  the  snowy  blossoms  of  the 
fruit  to  come,  the  mocking-bird  fills  the  air  with  wild 
but  tender  notes.  Dozens  of  linnets  with  crimson 
heads  warble  among  the  blooming  apricots;  thrushes 
mounted  on  the  peach-tree  pour  forth  the  best  they 
have;  wee  little  wrens  twitter;  humming-birds  with 
ruby  throats  buzz  around  the  geraniums  and  roses; 
while  blackbirds  by  the  score,  some  in  coats  of  glossy 
jet,  others  with  crimson-barred  wings,  others  with 
golden  throat  and  yellow-barred  wings,  chatter  and 
roar  around  the  house-top  or  barn-roof,  sit  preening 
their  feathers  on  the  fence,  or  promenade  in  the  garden 
walks. 

Hares  and  squirrels,  too,  enliven  the  landscape;  the 


A    WINTER   STROLL.  73 

former  mainly  in  the  morning  and  evening,  the  latter 
all  day  long.  Long-eared  hares  spring  from  their 
beds,  clearing  half  a  dozen  yards  at  a  bound,  or 
crouch  lower  in  their  forms,  and  flatten  their  ears  closer 
to  their  heads.  Mild  young  "cotton-tails,"  scarcely 
bigger  than  rats,  peep  inquiringly  out  from  between 
the  crimson  flowers  of  the  trailing  vetch  and  the  dark 
blue  of  the  larkspur;  older  ones  vanish  in  zigzag  lines 
of  brown  and  flickering  white,  leaving  a  wavy  wake 
among  the  bell-flowers  and  marigolds.  And  toward 
evening  they  scamper  by  dozens  over  the  greensward 
or  sit  along  the  spangled  slopes  that  lead  to  the  hills. 
Hundreds  of  the  large  gray  ground-squirrels  scatter 
at  one's  approach,  and  often  the  wildcat  or  coyote  sits 
far  up  on  the  hill-side  calmly  watching  one,  and  won- 
dering whether  it  is  worth  his  while  to  run. 

The  air,  too,  is  full  of  life.  The  eagle,  so  indispen- 
sable to  a  proper  landscape,  cannot  be  depended  upon, 
though  often  one  may  see  either  the  bald  or  black 
eagle  sailing  high  in  air,  or  perched  upon  a  lofty 
granite  boulder  watching  an  opportunity  to  descend 
upon  some  ill-starred  hare  or  lamb.  The  buzzard 
sails  on  every  breeze,  and  hawks  of  a  dozen  varieties 
are  all  about;  huge  red-tailed  harriers  on  the  dead 
limbs  of  lofty  sycamores;  trim  falcons  of  ashy  white 
descending  with  hissing  wings  to  snatch  in  mid-air 
some  luckless  quail  of  nearly  their  own  weight,  yet 
darting  away  upward  with  it  with  speed  unchecked; 
little  sparrow-hawks,  scarce  larger  than  the  meadow- 
larks  that  are  singing  in  the  meadow  beside  them; 
little  gray  mottled  hawks  but  little  larger  than  the 
4 


74  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

dove.  And  down  in  the  heavy  timber  along  the  river 
one  cannot  walk  far  without  startling  from  the  shade 
above  a  small  snowy  owl,  or  another  of  soft  brown, 
with  a  large  head  ribbed  with  soft  fluffy  feathers  on 
each  cheek.  The  burrowing  owl  on  every  little  knoll 
stands  bowing  and  twisting  his  head  at  you,  and  in 
the  bright  sun  shines  the  glossy  jet  of  the  raven  and 
the  crow.  And  often  above  all  this  soars  the  Cali- 
nia  condor,  with  that  mysterious  motionless  wing 
which  has  so  long  puzzled  philosophers,  floating  for 
hours  like  a  dark  speck  in  the  zenith,  as  though  it  had 
nothing  to  do  with  earth. 

Some  of  the  scenes  through  which  one  can  stroll, 
ride,  or  drive  in  a  light  wagon,  are  passing  away, 
probably  never  to  be  repeated  upon  this  earth;  such 
as  can  still  be  seen  at  times  north  of  the  Santa  Mar- 
garita Creek  where  it  empties  into  the  sea.  For  miles 
above  it  there  slopes  from  the  shore  to  the  inland 
mountains  a  long  stretch  of  table-land  so  smooth  and 
solid  that  one  may  drive  or  gallop  over  it  in  almost 
any  direction.  In  years  of  sufficient  rain  it  is  covered 
with  a  heavy  carpet  of  alfileria  and  clover,  that,  starred 
with  thousands  of  blossoms,  rolls  away  upward  toward 
the  inland  hills  in  a  hundred  shades  of  color.  It 
seems  the  very  home  of  peace — such  a  land  as  that 
of  the  lotus-eaters.  The  softest  of  sunlight  sleeps 
on  land  and  sea,  and  over  it  plays  the  softest  of 
breezes,  as  though  fearful  of  waking  it.  The  great 
sea,  with  nothing  but  a  shimmer  upon  its  placid  face 
to  mar  its  resemblance  to  the  blue  sky  above,  looks 
as  if  it  could  never  get  angry,  and  the  light  breakers 


A    WINTER   STROLL.  75 

that  mildly  grumble  along  the  shore  to  keep  up  the 
appearance  of  an  ocean,  seem  doing  their  best  to 
shirk  duty.  There  is  a  restful  tone  in  the  fluty  notes 
of  the  meadow-lark,  whose  golden  breast  shines 
through  the  fern-like  leaves  of  the  alfileria;  a  subdued 
air  in  the  sprightly  warbling  of  the  linnet  on  the  su- 
mac; a  softened  sweetness  in  the  song  of  the  mocking- 
bird on  the  bright  fusica.  The  mallard,  sunning  him- 
self in  the  inlet,  looks  as  if  he  had  dissolved  partnership 
with  care;  the  pelican,  riding  near  him,  seems  as  if 
eating  were  the  last  thing  he  ever  thought  of;  and 
the  curlew,  along  the  muddy  shore,  appears  to  be 
taking  only  a  pleasure  stroll. 

Such  is  the  land  as  you  might  see  it  if  your  eyes 
and  ears  were  at  leisure.  But  from  the  soft  sky 
above,  from  the  plain  on  every  side,  from  the  shore, 
and  from  the  slough  that  leads  into  the  land  comes  an 
overpowering  honk,  onk,  wo?ik  of  Canada  geese,  mingled 
with  the  cackle  of  gray  brant,  the  gaak,  gaak  of  the 
snow-goose,  and  the  grrrrrr  of  sand-hill  cranes;  for 
the  winged  wanderers  of  the  North  are  around  and 
above  you  in  myriads.  Dark  and  motionless,  with 
long  white-collared  necks  erect,  great  flocks  of  Canada 
geese  stand  sunning  themselves  upon  the  flowery 
knolls;  others,  with  solemn  dignity,  are  waddling  over 
the  greensward,  or  are  feeding  upon  the  grass;  others 
stand  in  regiments  along  the  low  flats  that  make 
toward  the  shore,  and  thousands  more  are  floating 
upon  the  smooth  waters  of  the  inlet.  Dark  dotted 
lines  are  widening  out  of  the  distant  sky;  converging 
strings  are  crossing  the  heavens  far  above  your  head. 


•j6  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

Some,  with  pinions  set  and  motionless,  are  sliding 
downward  on  long  inclines;  others,  with  vigorous  wiff, 
wiff,  wiff  of  laboring  wing,  are  sheering  off  or  mount- 
ing skyward  as  they  see  you.  Great  bands  of  sand- 
hill cranes  stand  in  the  distance,  often  looking  more 
like  flocks  of  gray  sheep  than  of  birds;  while  others, 
far  up  in  the  blue,  seem  floating  rather  than  flying. 
White  geese,  with  rapid  strokes  of  their  black-tipped 
wings,  are  swinging  low  across  the  plain  or  calling  in 
the  distant  sky;  while  others  relieve  the  prevailing 
green  of  the  land  with  lines  and  spots  of  white,  or 
float  with  their  dark-gray  cousins  upon  the  smooth 
waters  of  the  inlet. 


GAME,   FISH,    AND   CAMPING.  77 


CHAPTER  VI. 

GAME,  FISH,  AND   CAMPING. 

In  no  respect  is  Southern  California  so  defective  as 
in  its  game-birds.  No  turkey  gleams  with  black  and 
bronze  in  its  rising  sun,  and  no  exultant  gobble  rings 
along  its  hills.  There  are  thickets  enough  where 
fancy  can  hear  the  roaring  wing  of  the  ruffed  grouse, 
yet  they  echo  naught  but  the  buzz  of  the  quail;  moors 
that  should  hear  the  spring-time  booming  of  the  pin- 
nated grouse,  yet  the  dog  may  sweep  them  in  vain. 
There  are  grounds  whose  dank,  shady  silence  seems  to 
whisper  the  magic  word  "  woodcock,"  yet  you  hear 
no  whistling  wing;  and  stubbles  cornering  in  some 
bit  of  timber  or  brush,  with  the  stumps,  the  dead 
weeds,  the  briers — all  that  should  be  there,  except 
dear  little  Bob  White.  Bob  White  is  one  of  nature's 
noblemen,  and  there  is  no  sportsman  in  California 
who  once  knew  him  that  does  not  feel  sad  when  he 
thinks  of  the  days  gone  by  when  Bob  was  the  lead- 
ing feature  of  the  autumn  stubblfes  and  the  tangled 
thicket.  Our  quail  is  quite  the  reverse.  Instead  of 
eluding  the  vulgar  gaze  with  Bob  White's  genteel 
shyness,  that  so  often  calls  forth  the  utmost  skill  of 
both  sportsman  and  dog  to  get  even  a  glimpse  of  him, 
he  is  a  mere  hoodlum,  roistering  and  saucy,  awaiting 
you  on  the  corner  with   rude    stare   and    impudent 


78  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

whistle,  escaping,  perhaps,  with  a  sudden  twist,  and 
leaving  only  his  coat-tail  in  your  hand  just  as  you 
think  you  have  him. 

Compared  with  the  deer  of  the  Eastern  States, 
whose  ancestors  have  been  harried  until  wildness  has 
become  hereditary,  our  deer  is  such  a  mere  sheep 
that  to  be  a  great  deer-slayer  one  needs  more  to  be  a 
great  walker  and  a  great  butcher  than  to  know  any 
thing  about  a  rifle  or  the  habits  of  the  deer. 

Yet  there  are  features  of  the  hunting  here  that 
fully  compensate  for  these  differences.  And  for  one 
impaired  in  health  or  strength  they  throw  the  balance 
quite  the  other  way.  Our  very  best  hunting  with 
the  shot-gun  is  in  those  days  when  the  Eastern  sports- 
man hugs  the  fire,  and  the  old  dog  dozing  at  his  feet 
hunts  in  dreams  of  the  past.  Our  best  hunting  with 
the  rifle  is  in  the  cool  sea-breeze  of  those  long  lingering 
summer  days  when  our  Eastern  friends  hunt  soda- 
water  and  cool  corners.  The  hunting  season,  too,  is 
practically  endless,  for  the  times  of  breeding  so  ar- 
range themselves  that  some  kind  of  game  is  always  in 
season.  The  ease  with  which  most  of  the  country  can 
be  traversed  with  a  wagon  or  saddle-horse;  the  habits 
of  game  in  keeping  in  easily  accessible  places;  and  the 
long  trains  of  brilliant  days,  even  in  winter,  when 
one  may  start  out  with  absolute  certainty  of  good 
weather;  the  general  absence  of  mud,  briers,  and 
other  annoyances,  and  the  great  freedom  from  insect 
pests, — all  have  their  effect  upon  even  the  toughest 
ranger  of  the  fields,  and  he  is  quite  ready  to  admit 
that,  though   inferior  in   some    respects   to   the   best 


GAME,   FISH,    AND   CAMPING.  79 

hunting  of  the  East,  it  is  still  luxurious  in  the  ex- 
treme. 

For  the  lover  of  out-of-doors  who  does  not  care  to 
shoot,  the  country  possesses  rare  advantages.  In  the 
East  it  needs  experience  and  trained  dogs  to  get  even 
a  glimpse  of  the  noblest  birds  that  nature  has  made. 
Without  such,  the  lover  of  nature  must  there  confine 
his  contemplation  to  robins,  bluebirds,  and  thrushes, 
and  go  into  ecstasies  over  tomtits,  catbirds,  and 
peewees.  Even  these  are  so  scarce  in  places  that  he 
who  would  write  of  them  may  get  them  cheapest  at 
second-hand — a  trade  quite  easily  made,  now  that  so 
many  have  caught  the  trick  of  expression  and  have 
at  fingers'  end  all  the  regulation  adjectives.  But  so 
far  as  seeing  and  studying  the  habits  of  game  are 
concerned,  the  skilled  and  the  unskilled  are  here 
about  on  a  level;  even  the  deer  being  quite  easily 
seen  by  any  one  who  will  take  the  trouble  to  walk  or 
ride  into  their  haunts.  And  in  summer  one  may  not 
only  see  all  the  small  game  that  anyone  but  a  sports- 
man wishes  to  see,  but  by  merely  riding  along  the 
roads  in  a  wagon,  and  shooting  from  the  seat  while 
in  motion,  may  generally  have  all  the  shooting  a  rea- 
sonable person  should  desire.  Even  good  duck-  and 
goose-shooting  may  often  be  had  without  wetting 
one's  feet  or  going  two  hundred  yards  from  a  wagon 

The  California  grouse  is  found  in  the  high  moun- 
tains of  the  lower  spur  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  and  the 
English  or  Wilson's  snipe,  identical  in  form,  color, 
and  habits  with  the  same  bird  in  the  East,  is  found  in 
a  few  places  all  over  the  South.    But,  with  the  excep- 


y 


80  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

tion  of  these  and  the  water-fowl,  the  only  game-birds 
are  the  two  quails.  And  these  are  such  distinctive 
features  of  the  landscape  as  to  be  worthy  of  separate 
chapters. 

The  deer  is  found  almost  everywhere  except  upon 
the  open  plains,  and  still  abounds  in  hills  that  but  a 
few  miles  away  look  down  upon  the  rarest  civilization 
of  the  modern  world.  Three  varieties  are  found,  but 
two  are  extremely  rare,  and  one  of  them,  the  little 
chaparral  deer,  is  almost  extinct,  and  never  was  abun- 
dant. The  large  mule  deer  is  occasionally  seen,  but 
the  prevailing  type  is  a  smaller  variety,  found  from 
the  coast  to  highest  mountain-top. 

In  flavor  the  game  differs  from  that  of  the  East. 
The  venison,  hares,  and  rabbits  are  unquestionably 
superior;  the  water-fowl  (with  the  exception  of  the 
black  brant)  and  the  quails  are  as  unquestionably  in- 
ferior. Yet  he  who  knows  Bob  White  well,  knows 
that  a  bird  may  be  considerably  inferior  to  him  and 
yet  be  very  good.  Such  are  both  the  quails  of  Cali- 
fornia when  decently  cooked.  The  common  method 
here  of  cooking  them  shows  how  a  good  thing  may 
be  spoiled  by  the  folly  of  fashion.  California  hotel- 
keepers  and  cooks  know  nothing  of  quail  but  "quail  on 
toast."  Bob  White  is  a  juicy,  high-flavored  bird,  and 
"  quail  on  toast "  in  the  East  means  something.  Here 
it  also  means  something, — to  wit,  the  driest,  most  in- 
sipid combination,  next  to  sawdust  on  chip,  that  one 
can  imagine.  Fricasseed  brown,  with  cream  or  butter, 
the  California  quail  is  an  excellent  bird,  but  desic- 
cated on  dry  toast,  or  subjected  to  a  slow  dry  bake 


GAME,    FISH,    AND    CAMPING.  8 1 

without  stuffing,  is  abominable.  Equal  stupidity  is 
shown  with  the  water-fowl.  Young  and  old,  fat  and 
lean,  are  all  cooked  together  in  the  same  way — gener- 
ally a  slow  desiccation  in  a  half-heated  oven.  On  the 
whole,  one  might  as  well  judge  of  New  York  State 
butter  by  that  found  in  a  Bowery  eating-stand  as 
judge  of  any  California  product,  game,  fruit,  vege- 
tables, or  meat,  by  the  table  of  even  the  best  hotel. 
And  this,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  Southern 
California  has  the  best  hotels,  for  the  price,  to  be 
found  in  any  State  of  the  Union. 

The  streams  are  at  first  as  disappointing  as  the 
land.  Upon  the  map  is  marked  many  a  stream. 
But  when  one  comes  to  look  for  them  one  finds,  per- 
haps, only  the  hot  sunlight  pouring  into  a  deep  canon 
and  glaring  from  smooth  rocks  along  its  side,  or 
bare  gravel  and  cobblestones  along  its  bottom.  Or 
perhaps  only  a  long  gully  across  the  plain  is  found 
with  steep,  ragged  sides,  and  bottom  generally  dry  ; 
with  here  and  there  a  little  puddle  of  warm  stagnant 
water  half  concealed  with  rushes.  Or  possibly  one 
sees  a  long  line  of  trees  winding  through  low  hills  of 
brown,  gray,  or  dark  green,  with  a  dry  winding  bed 
of  reddish  gray  sand  in  the  center.  Or  one  may  find 
a  long  broad  surface  of  dry  mica-sand,  with  dry 
gravelly  bars,  leading  for  miles  through  green  bottom- 
lands with  scrubby  willow,  Cottonwood,  or  sycamore 
on  each  side,  with  an  occasional  strip  of  water  show- 
ing itself  above  and  then  quickly  disappearing  again. 

Yet  there  is  an  abundance  of  water  in  nearly  all 
these  streams,  as  you  would  readily  understand  should 
4* 


82  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

you  compute  the  amount  of  water  falling  in  winter 
upon  the  country  drained  by  them.  They  are  dry  on 
top  because  they  are  deep  beds,  many  yards  deep,  of 
granite  sand,  with  a  fall  of  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  to  the 
mile,  and  often  more.  Through  such  a  bed  a  large 
volume  of  water  may  flow  without  being  seen,  and  the 
stream  would  flow  above-ground  only  when  there  was 
a  large  surplus  from  excessive  winter  rains.  A  slight 
acquaintance  with  the  country  shows  that  it  once  had 
far  higher  mountains  and  deeper  and  narrower  valleys 
than  it  now  has.  The  friable  granite,  of  which  it  is 
largely  composed,  has  been  worn  away  by  the  erosion 
of  wind  and  rain,  and,  being  extremely  light,  has  been 
readily  carried  down  by  the  water.  Nearly  all  the 
plants  and  grasses  of  the  hills  being  annuals,  and  the 
soil  having  few  perennial  roots  to  hold  and  bind  it, 
the  valleys  have  received  a  much  greater  wash  from 
the  hills  than  they  would  receive  in  any  Eastern  State, 
and  are  filled  many  feet  deep  with  alluvium.  Hence, 
streams  that  ages  ago  ran  above-ground  the  whole 
year  are  now  many  feet  below  the  level  of  broad  and 
fertile  valleys,  yet  about  the  same  amount  of  water 
may  be  there  that  there  formerly  was.  And  some- 
times these  streams  may  be  on  the  other  side  of  the 
valley  from  where  the  surplus  water  now  runs  in  rainy 
winters,  and  many  fathoms  below  the  surface.  From 
such  ancient  channels  far  below  the  surface  of  the 
valleys  comes  the  artesian  water  that  adds  such  value 
to  some  sections. 

The  consequence  of  this  condition  of  things  is  that 
you  may  go  for  many  miles  along  the  lower  levels  in 


GAME,    FISH,   AND    CAMPING.  83 

summer  without  seeing  anything  worthy  the  name  of 
a  brook,  though  finding  abundant  evidence  that  at 
some  time  there  is  plenty  of  water  in  the  channel. 
a  rule,  it  is  little  better  if  you  go  into  the  first  tier  of 
hills.  You  find  perhaps  a  small  stream  dribbling 
through  a  deep  glen  where  the  live-oaks  and  syca- 
mores cast  a  perpetual  shade.  Between  deep  banks 
where  the  arrow-grass  rears  its  tall  stem  above  the 
sunflower  and  the  lupin,  and  where  the  mimulus  and 
the  nightshade  bloom  the  whole  summer  through, 
you  may  hear  it  mildly  trickling;  and  then  perhaps  it 
disappears  in  some  deep  gorge  of  rock  where  the  wild 
cucumber  sprawls  over  shattered  masses  of  granite, 
and  far  into  the  summer  the  honeysuckle  clambers 
over  the  manzanita  on  the  hill-side  near  it. 

Vainly  you  look  for  a  pond  where  you  may  see  the 
rush  of  the  pickerel  for  the  spoon-hook,  or  for  the 
deep  stream  from  whose  depths  you  may  lure  the 
bass.  Vainly  may  you  look  even  for  such  streams  as 
delighted  you  when  a  boy;  for  you  will  find  no  catfish 
to  fish  for  after  the  rain;  no  eels  to  "  bob"  for  at  night; 
no  suckers  to  spear  upon  the  ripples  or  in  sunny  coves 
along  the  banks;  no  chubs,  no  sunfish,  not  even  a 
shiner. 

You  might  make  the  usual  round  of  the  tourist  and 
even  spend  many  months  here  without  ever  suspect- 
ing that  in  those  farther  hills  that  lie  so  hazily  blue 
in  the  distant  sky  there  are  springs  as  cold  and  brooks 
as  clear  and  swift  as  any  land  can  show;  the  contrast 
between  them  and  the  dry  land  below  making  them 
doubly  pleasant.     Nor  is  it  always  necessary  to  go  fai 


84  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

above  sea-level.  Scarcely  anything  could  be  more 
lovely  than  Pauma  Creek — only  fifteen  hundred  feet 
above  the  sea  on  the  western  slope  of  Mt.  Palomar — 
used  to  be  before  the  white  man  became  too  numer- 
ous in  the  land.  Now  its  beauty  is  marred  by  dirty 
paths  trampled  along  its  shores;  and  of  the  bright  fish 
that  once  lit  up  its  dark  shades  as  the  hook  drew  them 
struggling  and  flashing  out  of  water,  nothing  now 
remains  but  a  few  wretched  fingerlings.  Yet  here  is 
dark  cold  water  tearing  over  rapids,  hissing  among  jag- 
ged rocks,  sprawling  over  shoals,  foaming  down  falls, 
spouting  through  crevices,  boiling  in  basins,  sleeping 
in  deep  pools;  and  by  its  side  are  great  boulders  of 
granite  guarding  the  banks  and  bridging  the  stream, 
just  such  as  those  upon  which  we  lay  and  dreamed 
away  many  a  summer  day  in  years  gone  by.  Thou- 
sands of  feet  above,  the  canon  walls  rise  bare,  and 
ragged  with  shattered  rocks  from  which  the  hot  sun 
glares,  yet  we  are  in  shades  both  deep  and  solemn; 
the  air  is  cool  and  fresh,  and  the  eye  rests  ever  on 
living  green  or  soft  dark  tints.  The  alder  stands  in 
ranks  of  shining  green  along  the  stream;  the  same  as 
the  alder  from  which  you  cut  your  first  trout-pole;  no 
mere  bush  as  in  the  East,  but  here  a  tree  as  thick  as 
your  waist,  with  smooth,  dark-brown  body  and  arms 
that  interlace  across  the  stream  and  form  a  sunless 
arcade.  Further  back  from  the  stream,  the  live-oak's 
limbs,  adorned  with  moss,  hang  low  over  ivy-twined 
boulders,  from  whose  chinks  the  mimulus  still  shows 
its  scarlet  bloom,  and  around  whose  bases  the  gold 
and   silver  ferns  still  hold  the  green  of  spring.     The 


GAME,    FISH,    AND   CAM  TING.  85 

sycamore,  ash,  willow,  Cottonwood,  and  elder,  are  all 
striving  to  be  its  nearest  comrades;  while  the  grape- 
vine is  trying  to  bind  them  all  in  one  brotherhood, 
and  the  rank  nightshade,  with  its  dark-green  leaves 
and  stems,  deepens  the  shade  of  the  arbor  beneath. 
The  lupin,  larkspur,  and  tulip;  the  golden  lily,  the 
beard-tongue,  and  the  iris,  lingering  long  after  their 
sisters  of  the  outer  world  have  yielded  to  the  blaze  of 
the  higher  sun  of  summer,  still  show  some  of  their 
former  splendor;  while  the  sunflowers,  the  columbine, 
and  the  tiger-lily  are  still  in  the  noon  of  life. 

Yet  all  this  is  only  in  the  lower  ranges.  But  half  a 
mile  from  where  this  brook  emerges  from  the  moun- 
tain canon  and  enters  the  outer  world  it  sinks  sud- 
denly in  a  vast  wash  of  gravel,  boulders,  and  sand,  and 
appears  no  more  until  it  reaches  the  San  Luis  River, 
where  it  adds  to  the  volume  of  the  waters  there  flow- 
ing above  the  sand.  To  see  brooks  and  fish  such  as 
will  satisfy  the  longings  of  one's  soul,  we  must  go 
higher  than  this.  And  the  great  mountains  of  San 
Bernardino  and  Los  Angeles  counties  are  the  farthest 
southern  points  where  one  can  find  abundant  and 
continuous  water  combined  with  an  abundance  of 
trout. 

What  wonder  that  in  a  land  with  such  a  topogra- 
phy and  seasons,  with  such  fine  weather,  cool  nights, 
and  absolute  safety  from  storms,  with  game  and 
fodder  in  abundance,  camping  should  be  the  most 
fashionable  and  respectable  of  all  out-of-door  amuse- 
ments ?  In  addition  to  those  who  camp  out  to  hunt 
or  fish,  thousands  throughout  the  State  go  every  year 


86  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

to  camp  for  the  mere  sake  of  camping,  to  thread 
the  mountain-passes  and  sit  gazing  on  the  lofty  peaks, 
to  hear  the  wind  sigh  through  huge  pines,  to  lie  in 
the  hammock  and  doze  away  the  time  in  the  breeze 
that  searches  the  deepest  shades  of  the  high  moun- 
tains, or  lounge  beside  the  clear  cold  brooks  that 
sparkle  down  the  winding  ravines  of  the  greater  hills. 
Where  ladies  accompany  the  party  a  tent  is  taken; 
but  in  summer  none  is  needed  for  protection  from  the 
weather,  and  it  is  far  more  pleasant  to  lie  beneath  the 
starry  sky,  the  moonlit  leaves  of  some  royal  live-oak, 
or  the  shining  needles  of  the  silver-fir,  there  to  sleep 
such  sleep  as  never  is  known  in  a  house. 

Many,  especially  those  whose  homes  are  in  or  near 
the.  mountains,  go  to  the  coast  to  rest  beside  the  sea, 
where  it  is  cooler  by  day  than  in  the  mountains,  though 
the  dark  shades  of  the  timber  are  wanting.  But  in  the 
mountains  the  extremely  dry  air  and  the  elevation  woo 
a  sleep  unknown  along  the  shore,  and  give  an  appe- 
tite quite  startling  to  a  dyspeptic.  The  water  of  the 
mountains  is  alone  worth  going  for.  That  of  the 
coast  is  apt  to  be  alkaline,  salty,  or  brackish;  and 
though  it  has  no  injurious  effects  upon  those  who 
drink  it  all  their  lives,  it  is  not  the  kind  of  water  one 
longs  for  unless  very  thirsty.  But  in  the  mountains 
the  water  is  so  cold,  so  pure,  and  so  sweet  that  fancy 
creates  a  thirst  every  few  minutes.  Nearly  all  the 
timber  there  ever  was  along  the  coast  has  long  since 
been  cut  off,  but  that  of  the  mountains  yet  stands  in 
almost  its  ancient  glory.  And  in  the  mountains  one 
can  always  go  upon  some  spur  or  shoulder  close  at 


GAME,   FISH,   AND   CAMPING.  87 

hand  and  look  down  upon  a  combination  of  hill  and 
dale  and  ocean  that  seems  ever  new. 

All  through  the  larger  ranges  of  mountains,  above 
four  or  five  thousand  feet,  are  springs  and  running 
brooks  of  clear,  cold  water,  where  pine-needles  carpet 
the  open  halls  between  huge  trunks,  whose  branches 
often  form  a  solid  shade  above,  where  the  sea-breeze 
ever  plays  during  the  hottest  noons,  and  where  even 
before  sunset  the  cool  air  descends  like  an  angel  of 
sleep.  There  the  gray  squirrel  springs  from  limb  to 
limb,  or  trails  his  bushy  tail  along  the  ground,  or  sits 
in  some  crotch  and  barks  at  you.  The  mountain 
quail,  perhaps,  steals  down  to  the  water  beside  your 
camp,  and  the  ring-necked  pigeon  may  flutter  down 
beside  him.  The  deer,  too,  may  stray  almost  into 
your  camp,  and  the  mountain  bluejay,  a  gaudy  chap 
with  a  great  dark-blue  hood,  and  a  dozen  squealing 
and  chattering  woodpeckers,  will  keep  you  company 
in  the  absence  of  anything  else. 

But  between  these  lofty  hills  and  the  coast  are 
places  enough  where  camping  may  be  equally  a  pleas- 
ure. The  broad  arms  of  the  black  live-oak,  full  of 
glistening  leaves,  may  take  the  place  of  the  silver-fir, 
and  the  white  live-oak  may  guard  the  passes  instead 
of  the  lofty  pine.  But  the  deer  is  as  apt  to  come  to 
the  spring  at  night,  the  hares  and  rabbits  are  quite 
certain  to  play  around  your  camp,  while  doves  by  the 
dozen  and  quail  by  the  hundred  may  be  awaiting  your 
coming  at  the  spring.  And  yet  your  camp  may  be 
beside  a  vineyard,  where  all  the  choicest  grapes  of  the 
world  are  growing,  or  the  orange  still  hangs  far  into 


88  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

the  summer,  and  where  you  may  get  good  butter-milk, 
vegetables,  and  eggs  for  a  trifle — the  wild  and  the 
cultivated  resting  side  by  side. 

A  camping  tour  is  the  best  way — in  fact,  the  only 
way — to  see  California.  It  is  so  easy,  so  free  from  fric- 
tion, and,  above  all,  so  cheap,  that  even  Shoddy's  most 
frantic  efforts  to  make  it  expensive  are  a  failure.  In 
good  seasons,  abundance  of  fodder  lies  ready  spread 
for  your  horses;  fire-wood  is  plenty  and  always  dry; 
the  matches  always  go,  and  one  needs  no  guide  but 
one's  own  will. 

These  out-of-door  charms  of  California  are  charms 
that  will  endure.  Here  are  natural  gardens  that  the 
pavement  can  never  overrun,  landscapes  that  will  for- 
ever defy  the  rose-blossoming  business,  and  birds 
that  the  demands  of  the  market  and  milliners  can 
never  exterminate.  On  its  hills  will  blow  strange 
and  lovely  flowers,  and  over  them  hum  a  rare  and 
elegant  insect  life;  from  its  valleys  the  quail  will  call, 
and  in  the  bright  sunshine  of  its  mountains  the  antlers 
of  the  deer  will  glitter  long  ages  after  the  great  white 
spoiler  of  all  that  is  fair  in  nature  has  stripped  the 
fields  where  our  boyhood  was  spent,  of  all  that  ever 
made  them  worth  looking  at.  But  not  because  the 
spirit  of  destruction  is  wanting.  The  sordid  soul  to 
whom  the  woods  and  streams  would  be  the  same 
though  containing  never  a  fin  or  wing,  to  whom  the 
most  beautiful  of  birds,  animals,  and  fish  are  merely 
so  much  superior  provender,  to  be  made  the  most  of 
while  it  lasts,  is  as  well  represented  here  as  elsewhere. 
But  the  hills  are  too   numerous  and  too  rough  with 


GAME,    FISH,    AND   CAMPING.  89 

brush  ever  to  allow  the  extermination  of  game,  either 
by  shooting  or  breaking  up  of  breeding-grounds. 
And  just  below  lie  the  great  untouched  preserves  of 
Lower  California,  which  will  always  be  a  nursery  for 
new  supplies,  as  well  as  a  natural  park  for  the  tourist 
who  wishes  to  see  a  landscape  free  from  tin  cans,  bot- 
tles, and  sardine-boxes. 


90  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE     VALLEY     QUAIL. 

Before  the  orange-colored  glare  of  the  poppy  be- 
gins to  pale  along  the  meadow,  before  the  indigo  of 
the  larkspur  extinguishes  the  light  of  violet  and  bell- 
flower,  and  the  gold  of  the  primrose  is  lost  beneath 
the  phacelia's  wealth  of  blue,  the  large  flocks  of  the 
valley  quail  whose  roaring  wings  have  all  winter  re- 
sounded in  the  valleys  of  California  begin  to  break 
up,  and  over  the  spangled  slopes  where  the  first  of 
the  pink  flowers  of  the  alfileria  and  the  yellow  heads 
of  the  clover  are  fading,  quail  in  pairs  may  be  seen 
trotting  about  in  all  directions. 

From  almost  every  hill  and  dale  soon  comes  a  soft 
call  midway  between  wah  and  waw,  in  tone  and 
accent  indicative  of  deep  content.  This  call  is  from 
the  male  bird,  sitting  serenely  upon  some  rock,  bush, 
or  lobe  of  cactus.  It  is  a  note  of  greeting,  a  sort  of 
"All  is  well,"  to  his  partner.  It  is  made  only  by  the 
male  bird,  and  only  during  the  time  of  nesting  and 
hatching. 

The  valley  quail  is  most  abundant  in  Southern  Cali- 
fornia, especially  in  the  county  of  San  Diego.  From 
the  most  dreary  parts  of  the  coast  -  line  where  the 
cactus  struggles  through  beds  of  cobble-stone,  and 


THE  VALLEY  QUALL.  9 1 

the  ice-plant  glistens  over  tracks  of  sand,  to  the  edge 
of  the  mountain-forest  where  the  breeze  sighs  through 
lofty  pines,  and  cold  sparkling  water  hisses  down  the 
deep  ravines,  there  is  scarcely  a  place  where  this  bird 
is  not  perfectly  at  home,  whether  in  the  settler's  gar- 
den or  on  the  rugged  hill-top  above  it,  in  the  smooth 
meadow,  or  among  the  rocks  where  the  toughest 
chaparral  has  to  fight  for  a  foothold. 

Under  some  little  bush,  in  a  carelessly-made  nest, 
but  a  little  way  from  where  the  male  is  sending  forth 
his  greeting,  the  female  lays  from  twelve  to  fifteen 
eggs,  or  sometimes  more.  These  are  larger  than  those 
of  the  Eastern  quail, — though  the  bird  is  nearly  one- 
fifth  smaller  than  the  well-known  "  Bob  White," — and 
are  of  a  dull  white,well  splashed  with  spots  of  chocolate- 
color.  The  nests  are  more  numerous  in  the  low  hills 
and  little  valleys  nearer  the  coast,  and  become  scarcer 
as  the  land  rises  into  the  higher  mountains;  though 
up  to  an  elevation  of  six  thousand  feet  above  tide- 
water there  is  scarcely  a  place  where  they  may  not  be 
sometimes  found. 

When  the  soft  lavender  tint  of  the  chorizanthe 
overruns  the  hills,  when  the  bright  clovers  are  wilting 
in  the  lowlands,  and  the  lately  green  plains  are  brown 
with  a  carpet  of  sun-dried  alfileria,  then  the  little 
quail  begin  to  appear.  Even  more  active  than  the 
young  of  Bob  White,  they  run  and  dodge  about 
among  the  bushes  and  dead  flowers  in  little  dark  gray 
lines,  defying,  on  the  very  day  of  hatching,  nearly  all 
attempts  to  capture  them.  When  but  a  few  days  old 
they  are  quite  strong  upon  the  wing,  and  rise  squeal- 


(j 2  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

ing  and  whizzing  in  curves  of  soft,  hazy  gray  when 
one  conies  near  them. 

When  the  young  quail  are  about  three  fourths 
grown,  the  bevies  begin  to  unite  in  large  flocks  as  the 
coveys  of  pinnated  grouse  unite  in  autumn.  These 
flocks  often  number  several  hundred.  And  occasion- 
ally two  or  more  large  flocks  run  together  so  as  to 
form  an  army  of  several  thousand.  This  concentra- 
tion explains  the  immense  numbers  in  which  the  val- 
ley quail  is  often  found,  and  makes  for  the  tyro  the 
most  bewildering  shooting.  During  this  time  of  com- 
bining into  large  flocks,  most  of  the  birds  that  have 
been  reared  in  the  hills  descend  into  the  valleys, 
where  they  are  apt  to  remain  until  spring.  From 
this  habit,  and  not  because  it  is  limited  to  the  valleys, 
the  bird  receives  the  name  of  Valley  Quail,  to  dis- 
tinguish it  from  the  mountain  quail,  which  remains 
in  the  mountains  where  it  was  hatched. 

The  notes  of  the  valley  quail  are  quite  varied;  and 
even  the  same  bird  often  varies  within  five  minutes 
both  the  tone  and  accent  of  every  note.  A  note  heard 
only  during  the  breeding  season  is  a  ringing  whee- 
ooo  or  tee-ooo  of  decided  metallic  tone,  though  often 
quite  husky.  This,  too,  is  made  only  by  the  male 
and  generally  when  he  is  in  motion.  But  the  wah 
before  mentioned  is  made  only  when  the  bird  is 
at  perfect  rest  and  mounted  in  plain  sight  upon 
some  bush  or  fallen  tree-top.  The  tee-ooo  is  heard 
until  the  young  are  nearly  grown,  whereas  the  other 
is  not  heard  after  the  young  appear.  It  is  also 
sounded  several  times  in  quick  succession,  whereas 


THE  VALLEY  QUAIL.  93 

the  wah  is  always  heard  alone  and  at  intervals  of  a 
minute  or  two. 

The  alarm-call  of  both  sexes,  and  of  both  young 
and  old,  is  a  sharp  whit,  whit,  whit,  whit.  But 
when  the  young  are  nearly  or  quite  grown,  and  es- 
pecially when  the  flock  is  large,  another  alarm-note 
is  very  common  —  a  low,  muffled  wook,  wook,  wook, 
rapidly  repeated  from  so  many  throats  that  it  sounds 
like  "  k-wook-kwoo-kook,  k-wookook.  The  whit,  wJiit 
is  the  first  intimation  of  danger;  the  other  comes 
afterward,  —  generally  when  the  birds  are  hud- 
dled,— and  seems  a  discussion  of  the  extent  of  the 
danger.  But  when  the  discussion  has  resulted  in  a 
conclusion  that  it  is  best  to  fly,  the  alarm  becomes  a 
shrill  chirp,  chirp,  chirp,  as  the  birds  take  wing,  and 
the  same  is  heard  from  single  birds  rising  after 
the  flock  has  been  scattered.  But  the  wook,  wook, 
wook  is  not  solely  an  alarm-note;  for  it  is  sometimes 
made  in  a  low,  soft  tone,  when  the  flock  is  moving 
along,  feeding,  or  approaching  a  spring. 

The  most  common  call  of  this  quail  is  a  clear, 
far-reaching  O-hi-o,  repeated  four  or  five  times  in 
quick  succession.  Often  the  tone  is  changed  so  that 
it  sounds  more  like  Ka-loi-o.  Often  the  accent  is 
shifted  from  the  middle  syllable  to  the  first  and  last 
syllables,  so  that  it  sounds  like  Tuck-a-hoe.  Again 
the  stress  is  laid  so  heavily  upon  the  second  syllable 
that  the  other  syllables  are  scarcely  heard,  and  the 
whole  sounds  like  K-woick-uh;  and  again  the  last 
syllable  is  omitted  entirely,  and  the  whole  becomes  a 
low  K-woick.     This  is  the  call  of   the  different  mem- 


94  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

bers  of  the  flock  to  each  other  when  scattered,  of  the 
old  hen  to  her  chicks,  and  of  the  male  and  female  to 
each  other  when  separated. 

Should  the  winter  rainfall  be  insufficient  to  make 
an  abundance  of  grass  and  seeds,  this  quail  does  not 
pair  off  and  breed,  but  remains  unmated  in  the  large 
bands  in  which  it  has  been  all  winter — a  curious 
case  of  instinct,  shown  also  by  the  hares,  squirrels, 
gophers,  and  bees,  all  of  which  decline  to  increase. 
But  after  two  or  three  good  seasons  in  succession  the 
numbers  of  the  valley  quail  in  many  parts  of  South- 
ern California  are  incredibly  great.  By  the  latter 
part  of  August  the  combination  of  the  bevies  into 
flocks  is  about  completed,  and  dark  sheets  of  quail 
may  now  be  seen  covering  sometimes  half  an  acre,  or 
even  more,  of  sun-dried  grass  or  stubble.  Out  of 
cactus  patches,  clumps  of  sumac,  and  old  rock-piles 
overgrown  with  mimulus,  ivy,  and  wild  cucumber, 
they  often  flutter  by  hundreds  at  one's  approach. 
And  in  the  morning  or  evening,  at  the  spring,  in  the 
cafion,  or  on  the  hillside,  one  may  often  hear  for  sev- 
eral seconds  a  steady  roar  of  wings,  and  on  the  right, 
the  left,  and  in  front  may  see  the  air  filled  with  blue 
lines  of  life,  wheeling  and  twisting  upward,  chirping 
as  they  go,  and  in  every  direction  birds  scudding 
along  the  ground,  clambering  over  rocks,  hopping  up 
into  bushes,  walking  with  a  whit,  whit,  whit  along 
the  limbs  of  trees,  or  fading  quietly  among  rocks, 
brush,  or  cactus. 

When  the  seed  of  the  alfileria  and  burr-clover  is 
abundant,  this  bird   seems  to   be  a  strict  vegetarian. 


THE  VALLEY  QUALL.  95 

It  is  a  great  ravager  of  gardens  and  vineyards,  and 
will  touch  almost  nothing  but  grapes  if  it  can  get 
them,  and  the  amount  of  white  grapes  a  quail  can  eat 
in  a  day  is  amazing. 

This  bird  affords  fair  shooting  by*  the  middle  of 
September,  and  the  open  season  lasts  until  the  middle 
of  March.  But  to  see  the  shooting  at  its  best  one 
should  wait  until  after  warm  and  abundant  rains 
have  fallen.  Then  when  the  land  looks  like  a  garden, 
when  the  burnished  green  of  the  mallard's  head  shines 
in  the  lagoon,  and  the  mellow  honk  of  the  wild- 
goose  falls  softly  from  the  sky,  there  is  often  such 
ease  about  the  shooting,  and  something  so  unique 
about  its  surroundings,  that  it  is  irresistibly  attrac- 
tive. 

However  skillful  one  may  be  in  hunting  and  shoot- 
ing the  quail  of  the  Eastern  States,  one  may  be  very 
much  amazed  at  the  small  number  of  birds  to  be 
got  from  the  very  largest  flock  of  valley  quail,  if  un- 
accustomed to  them.  Not  only  do  they  often  rise  out 
of  distance  for  a  certain  shot,  but  their  first  impulse 
upon  alighting  is  to  run,  and  not  to  hide,  as  Bob 
White  does.  They  put  their  trust  more  in  speed  of 
foot,  and  will  hide  only  when  well  scattered  and 
scared,  and  even  then  they  lie  none  too  closely. 
Hence,  by  the  time  the  easy-going  hunter  from  the 
East  reaches  the  place  where  a  large  flock  of  these 
birds  has  settled  in  the  brush  after  being  flushed,  he 
probably  finds  nothing.  But  from  the  brush  seventy 
or  eighty  yards  ahead  comes  the  sharp  whit,  whit, 
whit,    and    the    muffled    wook,    wook,    wook    from    a 


96  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

hundred  Little  throats.  While  the  hunter  has  been 
going  a  hundred  yards  the  birds  have  run  together 
and  are  fast  trotting  away.  And  should  he  thus  go 
on  he  might  flush  them  a  dozen  times  without  get- 
ting a  shot.  Each  time  they  might  rise  just  too  far 
to  shoot,  alight  just  near  enough  to  lure  him  to  fol- 
low them,  yet  be  just  fifty  or  sixty  yards  ahead  of 
him  and  all  ready  to  fly  again  by  the  time  he  reaches 
the  place  where  they  last  settled  into  the  brush. 

But  let  us  follow  the  flock  at  a  rapid  pace;  charge 
upon  it  before  its  members  can  unite  after  alighting; 
waste  no  time  in  trying  to  kill  any  birds  at  first,  but 
fire  into  the  air  above  them  and  devote  all  our  efforts 
to  breaking,  scaring,  and  scattering  the  flock.  We 
shall  then  see  vastly  different  results.  The  flock 
keeps  together  and  stands  two  or  three  such  attacks 
without  breaking.  But  at  the  fourth  or  fifth  rush 
upon  it,  it  breaks,  bewildered,  into  hundreds  of  slate- 
blue  lines.  Scarcely  any  of  the  birds  fly  over  two 
hundred  yards  before  settling  into  the  cover,  and  in 
a  moment  all  is  still. 

And  now  before  us  spreads  many  an  acre  of  rolling 
ground  covered  with  a  light  brush  about  three  feet 
high,  composed  of  ramiria,  wild  buckwheat,  white 
sage,  and  black  sage,  with  occasional  taller  bushes 
of  sumach  or  fusica.  All  of  this  is  now  aglow  with 
the  brightness  of  new  life;  and  its  wavy  folds  of  green 
are  starred  and  fringed  with  the  pink,  orange,  crim- 
son, and  blue  of  hosts  of  strange  flowers,  beneath 
which  are  now  hidden  hundreds  of  quail.  Of  these 
the  greater  part  will  lie  quietly  concealed  until  we  get 


THE  VALLEY  QUAIL.  97 

within  five,  ten,  or  fifteen  paces  of  them.  Many  more 
will  quietly  vanish  on  the  swiftest  legs  that  ever  car- 
ried so  small  a  bird.  And  the  rest  will  either  rise  at 
too  great  a  distance  to  shoot,  or  will,  without  moving, 
allow  us  to  pass  and  repass  them  a  dozen  times. 

Scarcely  do  we  enter  this  piece  of  ground,  when 
from  almost  at  our  feet,  from  a  bush  around  which 
the  vetch  is  twining  its  garlands  of  pink,  a  dark  line 
darts  a  few  yards  along  the  ground,  then  turns  sud- 
denly upward  with  a  shrill  chirp,  chirp,  chirp  and  loud 
buzzing  wing.  Never  does  the  valley  quail  show 
to  better  advantage  than  now,  as  it  wheels  in  its  up- 
ward career  and  brings  all  its  colors  successively  into 
view.  The  slate-blue  back  and  tail,  dark  head  and 
wings,  which  we  see  as  it  first  rises,  give  place,  as  it 
turns,  to  a  full,  swelling  breast  of  black  and  white; 
and  through  the  dark  haze  that  the  swift  wings  make 
around  it  faint  cinnamon-colored  shadings  appear. 
A  broad  white  collar  and  dark  neckband  now  show 
plainly  upon  the  full  throat;  and  over  the  cunning 
little  head  in  clear  outline  against  the  distant  sky 
stands  the  long  black  plume,  with  its  broad  disk- 
shaped  tip  hanging  forward  over  the  stubby  black 
bill. 

But  we  have  little  time  to  inspect  this  bird;  for  the 
rising  of  one  often  starts  several  more  from  around 
him,  and  there  is  a  buzz  on  the  right,  a  whiz  on  the 
the  left,  a  chirp,  chirp,  chirp  behind,  and  the  rustling 
of  swiftly  plied  legs  in  front  of  us.  Swiftly  flashes  the 
flame  of  four  barrels;  nothing  falls,  but  at  the  reports 
birds  get  up  everywhere.  There  is  a  sudden  bustle  in 
5 


98  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

a  bunch  of  poppies;  from  the  chemisal  just  beyond  it, 
over  which  the  dodder  is  weaving  its  orange-colored 
floss,  springs  a  bird;  half  a  dozen  more  buzz,  squeal- 
ing and  curling  out  of  the  morning-glories  and  golden 
violets  upon  either  hand  at  the  report  of  your  first 
barrel;  while  the  second  rouses  as  many  more  from 
the  blue-bells  and  shooting-stars  around  us. 

And  thus  we  may  go  on  for  two  or  three  hundred 
yards  or  more,  then  turn  and  come  back  on  one  side, 
then  cross  and  advance  upon  the  other,  yet  nearly 
all  the  time  quails,  singly,  in  pairs,  and  in  bunches, 
will  be  rising  around  us.  Some  dart  straight  away, 
others  wheel  and  pass  us  upon  the  side;  some  cross 
our  path  in  front  and  go  plunging  down  the  hill-side; 
others  spin  away  upward  among  the  rocks  and  brush 
above;  others  twist  even  over  our  heads  and  whiz 
away  behind  us.  Some  burst  into  flight  at  once;  oth- 
ers run  a  few  yards  before  taking  wing.  Some  spring 
almost  from  under  our  feet;  others  from  the  spangled 
covert  thirty  yards  away. 

But  the  climax  of  this  is  reached  in  about  twenty 
minutes,  from  which  time  the  rapidity  of  the  shooting 
quickly  declines.  The  quail  become  more  widely 
scattered,  and  those  that  remain  lie  hidden  more 
closely  than  before,  so  that  much  more  walking  is 
necessary  to  flush  a  bird. 

But  for  a  while  the  gun  flames  as  fast  as  one  can 
load  it;  through  its  smoke  fresh  birds  are  rising, 
darting,  and  wheeling;  another  bird  springs  from  the 
very  bush  beside  which  the  last  one  has  fallen,  and 
still  others  rise  between  you  and   it  as  you  raise  the 


THE  VALLEY  QUAIL.  99 

gun  upon  it.  And  this,  too,  in  February,  beneath  the 
softest  sun  and  upon  the  greenest  earth,  with  great 
snow-clad  mountains  looking  down  through  the  clear 
air,  with  a  thousand  flowers,  all  new  to  your  eye, 
peering  at  you  from  every  rock  and  bank  and  gully 
and  slope,  while  your  friends  at  home  sit  by  the  fire, 
and  poor  Bob  White  huddles  up  to  die  in  the  crusted 
snow-drift  at  the  East. 

So  abundant  were  these  birds  but  a  few  years  ago, 
and  so  easily  found,  that  a  dog  was  quite  unnecessary 
in  hunting  them.  They  are  still  abundant  as  before 
in  places;  but,  in  general,  their  numbers  have  been 
reduced  by  market  shooters  to  a  point  where  a  dog 
is  now  quite  an  advantage;  though  by  one  skilled 
in  hunting  them  and  marking  the  fallen  birds  fine 
shooting  may  still  be  had  without  a  dog. 


IOO  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE    MOUNTAIN    QUAIL. 

As  we  pass  from  the  lowlands  of  California  to  the 
pine-clad  hills  that  lie  so  hazily  blue  in  the  eastern 
sky,  the  valley  quail  becomes  gradually  rarer,  until, 
at  a  height  of  about  seven  thousand  feet  above  sea- 
Jevel,  it  disappears.  But  long  before  this  elevation  is 
reached,  or  even  before  timber  appears  upon  the  hills, 
perhaps  before  the  valley  quail  becomes  really  scarce, 
you  may  suddenly  hear  a  rich  cloi,  cloi,  clot,  or 
woi,  wot,  wot,  in  tone  as  mellow  and  as  far-reach- 
ing as  the  whistle  of  the  upland  plover.  This  note  is 
repeated  at  intervals  of  two  or  three  seconds;  and 
at  a  distance  often  sounds  like  the  tap  of  a  leathern 
hammer  upon  a  strip  of  glass  laid  across  two  strings. 

Instead  of  this,  one  may  be  surprised  by  a  ch-ch- 
ch  -  ch  -  checah,  cheeah,  soft  and  sweet  in  tone,  but 
deeply  tinged  with  anxiety.  Sometimes  it  is  a  little 
harder  in  tone,  and  sounds  like  quit,  quit,  quit,  quit, 
queeah,  queeah.  When  the  cloi  or  wot  is  heard,  one 
is  not  apt  to  see  without  some  search  the  bird 
that  makes  it.  For  this  is  not  a  note  of  alarm, 
but  only  the  call  of  one  bird  to  another,  and  they 
may  be  hidden  in  the  chaparral.  But  when  the 
ch  -  ch  -  ch  -  ch  -  cheeah  is  heard,  one  may  generally 
see  upon  the  ground,  within  a  few  yards  perhaps,  a 


THE  MOUNTAIN  QUAIL.  iol 

plump,  full-breasted  bird,  about  one  fifth  larger  than 
the  Eastern  quail,  but  with  all  of  Bob  White's  artless 
grace  and  gentleness  of  demeanor  intensified.  Its 
breast  is  of  slate-blue,  with  low  vest  heavily  mottled 
with  cinnamon  and  white,  with  four  broad  bands  of 
white  further  back  along  each  side.  The  back  is  of 
brownish  gray,  with  the  tail  blue  above  and  cinna- 
mon beneath.  The  swelling  throat  is  inclosed  in 
white,  with  a  wide  cinnamon  band  below  it,  and  the 
bluish  head  is  surmounted  by  a  grayish-brown  top- 
knot, from  the  center  of  which  rise,  one  behind  the 
other,  two  long  and  slender  plumes  of  jet  black. 
This  is  the  mountain  quail  of  California,  so  called 
because  it  inhabits  the  mountains  and  does  not  de- 
scend in  large  flocks  into  the  valleys,  as  does  the 
smaller  bird  known  as  the  valley  quail. 

Perhaps  with  soft  and  easy  step  your  new  friend 
mounts  a  stone  to  inspect  you,  or  with  delicate  tread 
walks  along  a  fallen  log,  stopping  at  every  few  steps 
and  turning  its  head  sidewise,  all  the  time  twitter- 
ing a  plaintive  ch-ch-ch-ch-cheeah.  Probably  a  dozen 
little  comrades  are  about  him,  stealing  here  and 
there  over  the  dead  leaves  or  pine  needles,  or  some 
are  standing  still  upon  the  ground,  and  others  hop- 
ping upon  stones,  logs,  or  bushes  to  look  at  you. 
But  all  have  their  long  jetty  plumes  erect,  and  at 
least  half  of  them  keep  up  a  steady  ch-ch-ch-ch- 
cheeah,  cheeah.  And  all  this,  perhaps,  within  ten  yards 
of  you. 

Most  pleasing  is  the  contrast  between  this  bird  and 
the    valley  quail.     The  valley  quail    seems   to  court 


102  SOUTHERN-  CALIFORNIA. 

notice  rather  than  shun  it.  All  of  its  tones  and  ac- 
tions savor  of  defiance  and  abiding  confidence  in  its 
ability  to  take  care  of  itself.  But  every  motion  of 
the  mountain  quail  indicates  gentility,  and  every  tone 
of  voice  is  full  of  sweetness  and  refinement.  Here  one 
steals  along  in  front  of  his  companions  with  all  the 
naivete  that  is  so  charming  in  Bob  White.  Another 
stands  gazing  at  you  with  the  woodcock's  solemn 
dignity.  Another,  standing  upon  a  log,  expands  his 
tail  and  swells  out  his  breast  with  the  imposing  yet 
unpretentious  grace  of  the  ruffled  grouse.  From 
every  little  bead-like  eye  there  beams  a  mild  con- 
fidence, in  which  only  by  fancy's  aid  can  you  detect 
any  trace  of  suspicion. 

But  a  tendency  to  disappear  underlies  all  this  trust- 
ful simplicity;  and  even  as  they  march  and  counter- 
march and  gaze  and  twitter  so  inquisitively,  they  are 
steadily  increasing  their  distance  from  you.  Yet 
their  disappearance  seems  quite  involuntary.  They 
linger  and  look,  then  move  as  if  reluctantly  obeying 
some  invisible  power,  then  stop  and  move  on  again, 
then  stop  and  look  and  twitter  some  more.  They 
generally  move  up  hill,  and  the  air  is  musical  with  the 
ch-ch-ch-ch-checah,  until  the  last  quail  fades  in  the 
chaparral  that  robes  the  hill-side.  And  for  many 
minutes  after  all  are  lost  to  sight  there  still  comes 
down  the  same  tender  sound  from  the  lilac,  scrub- 
oak,  and  manzanita  that  bristle  above. 

In  some  parts  of  California  the  mountain  quail  is 
much  wilder  than  in  others.  But  throughout  the 
great  mountains  of  the  South  they  are  generally  the 


THE  MOUNTAIN  QUAIL.  103 

most  guileless  little  things  imaginable.  The  valley 
quail,  even  where  never  disturbed,  is  often  very- 
wild;  but  the  mountain  quail,  even  when  wild,  has  a 
wildness  of  an  entirely  different  kind.  He  seems  to 
elude  you  in  a  manner  quite  accidental.  In  his  ac- 
tions there  is  no  trace  of  stupidity.  All  is  innocent 
faith  and  trustful  curiosity.  When  they  find  their 
confidence  in  you  weakening,  or  their  curiosity  be- 
coming too  quickly  satisfied,  their  little  feet  grow 
suddenly  restless  and  in  a  moment  bear  them  away. 
And  if  pressed  so  hard  that  they  can  no  longer  trust 
their  legs,  they  then  can  unfold  a  pair  of  wings  as  swift 
as  those  of  the  valley  quail  and  dart  with  ease  through 
the  heaviest  chaparral.  One  can  swoop  downward 
and  out  of  a  tree  with  a  curving  rush  that  leaves  your 
charge  of  shot  behind  and  above  it;  or,  as  you  raise 
the  gun  upon  it,  can  vanish  behind  a  tree-trunk  in  a 
manner  that  would  be  highly  creditable  to  the  ruffled 
grouse.  But  they  are  not  apt  to  fly  or  even  run 
much,  unless  there  be  something  decidedly  aggressive 
about  your  movements.  Many  a  flock  may  you  meet 
down  in  the  wild  mountain  glen,  where  you  may 
often  stretch  upon  a  rock  and  see  these  quail  walking 
and  twittering  and  wheeling  about  within  a  dozen 
steps  of  you;  and  if  you  do  nothing  to  alarm  them, 
it  may  be  three  or  four  minutes  before  the  last  one 
steals  gently  away. 

This  quail  lays  from  twelve  to  fifteen  eggs  of  pure 
white,  and  not  spotted  with  brown  like  those  of  the 
valley  quail.  The  nest  is  made  along  the  mountain 
side,  generally  in  thick  brush,  and  is  difficult  to  find. 


104  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

The  chicks  are  little  gray  flashes  of  energy,  quite 
ready  to  run  with  half  of  the  shell  still  clinging 
to  their  backs.  The  ch-ch-ch-ch-cheeah  of  the  old 
bird  becomes  distressingly  dolorous  when  she  is  with 
her  chickens,  and  generally  terminates  in  a  long- 
drawn  and  most  touching  k-weeeeawk  as  she  leads 
the  little  brood  from  danger.  Often  with  heart-rend- 
ing tones  she  affects  lameness,  and  performs  all  the 
variations  of  that  venerable  ruse.  Sometimes  she  is 
brave  in  defence,  and  charges  upon  the  intruder  with 
all  the  bluster  of  the  turkey  gobbler,  yet  observing 
due  caution  in  not  getting  too  close.  The  little  ones  fly 
quite  well  when  scarcely  larger  than  wrens,  and  often 
the  mother  flies  close  behind  and  below  one  as  if  to 
buoy  it  up  in  case  its  little  wings  should  fail. 

The  bevies  of  the  mountain  quail  do  not  unite  in 
large  flocks  or  bands  in  the  fall,  as  do  the  bevies  of 
the  valley  quail,  but  remain  separate  upon  the  grounds 
where  they  were  hatched.  The  mountain  bird  de- 
pends, too,  quite  as  much  upon  running  as  the  other, 
and  the  covert  to  which  it  generally  runs  or  flies  from 
danger  is  both  denser  and  stiffer  than  that  in  which 
the  valley  quail  takes  refuge.  The  mountain  bird  is 
more  apt  to  fly  into  trees  or  bushes  when  flushed  in 
timber  or  high  cover,  and  will  not  lie  well  to  the  dog, 
though  in  long  grass  underlying  brush  it  will  often 
lie  quite  well  after  being  thoroughly  scared.  But  un- 
less the  bevy  be  thoroughly  broken  up,  scattered,  and 
scared,  it  will  be  quite  impossible  to  have  any  good 
wing-shooting;  and  unless  the  hunter  follows  at  a  rapid 
pace,   they  all  alight  together,  run  fast  the  instant 


THE  MOUNTAIN  QUAIL.  105 

they  touch  ground,  and  rise  again  far  out  of  shot. 
Often  they  must  be  headed  off  and  confused  by  firing 
in  front  of  them  before  they  will  lie.  Under  any  cir- 
cumstances the  hunter  must  move  rapidly,  take  many 
long  shots,  and  shoot  very  quickly  when  a  bird  rises, 
or  it  will  be  lost  in  the  brush.  The  shot  must  open 
up  many  an  avenue  through  the  dense  green  of  the 
lilac  or  manzanita  before  the  white  and  cinnamon 
feathers  can  be  seen  floating  upon  the  air.  Many  a 
steep  hill-side  must  one  swiftly  scale,  and  drop  upon 
one's  knee  at  times,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  blue 
scudding  beauty  before  it  vanishes  among  the  twigs 
and  leaves  above.  For  these  quail  become  anything 
but  artless  when  once  they  learn  that  you  have  de- 
signs upon  them.  Their  confidence  in  you,  when  once 
lost,  is  seldom  regained  that  day.  And  even  when 
running  they  are  by  no  means  easy  to  hit,  and  often 
give  a  startling  surprise  even  to  the  skilled  shot  who 
in  despair  of  getting  a  good  wing-shot,  condescends 
to  shoot  at  one  upon  the  ground. 

Yet  this  is  but  small  matter  of  regret  to  him  who 
really  loves  the  wild  beauties  of  the  field  and  stream 
for  their  own  sake,  and  threads  the  woods  and  follows 
the  winding  of  the  stream  more  for  the  charm  that  the 
silent  grandeur  of  nature  spreads  about  him  than  for 
the  savor  of  the  frying-pan  or  the  love  of  blood  or  game 
count.  Such  will  feel  nothing  but  sorrow  for  the  fall 
of  the  mountain  quail.  The  valley  quail  is  so  impu- 
dent, so  defiant,  and  so  mischievous  that,  as  he  whirls 
over  in  his  whizzing  career,  one  feels  no  more  regret 
than  for  the  death  of  an  English  sparrow.  But  the 
5* 


106  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

mountain  quail  is  so  polite,  so  mild,  and  so  harmless 
in  life  that  the  tender  heart  will  feel  remorseful  at 
his  death,  and  will  spare  him  as  far  as  the  imperative 
demands  of  the  camp  larder  will  permit. 

It  is  pleasant  to  know  that  there  is  at  least  one  bird 
that  will  long  survive  the  ravages  of  civilization.  The 
mountain  quail  makes  its  home  in  those  high  gardens 
that  will  long  lie  untrampled  by  the  foot  of  the 
spoiler.  They  are  not  plenty  enough  to  make  a  spe- 
cial trip  for  them  profitable;  they  are  too  far  from  the 
centers  of  civilization  for  one  to  hunt  them  and  return 
the  same  day;  they  are  more  uncertain  in  their  move- 
ments and  less  easy  to  find  than  the  more  numerous 
and  noisy  valley  quail,  and  they  often  escape  the  hunt- 
er entirely  by  a  timely  retreat  into  dense  chaparral. 

But  for  the  tourist  who  goes  to  the  mountains  to 
enjoy  deep  shades,  cold  brooks,  and  quiet  retreat  from 
the  dust  and  bustle  of  the  lowland  towns,  this  quail 
has  a  charm  scarcely  second  to  that  of  the  trout  or 
the  deer.  When,  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  one  comes 
to  some  little  potrero  where  pine-clad  hills  inclose  a 
soft  green  meadow,  where  a  clear,  cold  stream  gurgles 
through  grassy  banks,  and  ferns  wave  darkly  green 
even  in  the  noon  of  summer,  then  this  bird  makes  a 
strange,  sweet  feeling  in  the  wanderer's  heart,  whether 
his  mellow  call  ring  from  the  bristling  heights  above 
or  the  delicate  ch-ch-ch-ch-chceah,  cheeah  come  from 
the  ferns  beside  one  as  he  steals  softly  away.  As 
a  companion  in  the  impressive  solitude  that  broods 
over  these  high  places,  so  far  from  the  haunts  of  meni 
no  other  bird  can  take  his  place.     His  friendly  coy- 


THE  MOUNTAIN  QUAIL.  \0J 

ness;  the  soft  sparkle  in  the  little  black  eye  that  so 
plainly  says  he  would  like  to  be  your  friend  if  only  it 
were  safe;  his  lingering  look,  as  if  he  would  1  ik < 
meet  you,  but  is  too  well-bred  to  force  his  acquaint- 
ance upon  you;  the  tenderness  of  his  notes,  and  the 
artlessness  of  his  motions,  all  seeming  to  deprecate 
the  necessity  of  keeping  at  a  judicious  distance — all 
these  will  quickly  disarm  your  intentions,  and  you 
will  love  him  too  much  in  life  to  care  to  see  him  in 
death. 

Though  sometimes  found  within  a  thousand  feet 
above  sea-level,  and  but  a  few  miles  from  the  coast, 
and  even  in  bare  hills  where  the  sunlight  streams  on 
glistening  rocks  and  over  acres  of  bare  ground,  such 
places  are  not  the  home  of  the  mountain  quail.  It 
loves  the  higher  slopes  of  the  great  inland  hills.  Far 
away  upward  it  climbs  and  lives  and  loves  where  in 
midsummer  the  snow  still  lingers  on  the  shady  slopes; 
where  the  fir  grows  dwarfed  and  distorted;  far  above 
where  the  blue-jay  squalls  and  the  raven  croaks; 
where  even  the  condor  rarely  circles,  and  no  hawk,  no 
wildcat,  coyote,  or  fox  brings  solicitude  to  the  fond 
mother;  even  far  up  where  nearly  all  other  birds  dis- 
appear, and  only  the  little  mountain  chipmunk  flits 
from  limb  to  limb  like  an  electric  spark  of  life,  this 
lovely  bird  is  perfectly  at  home. 


I08  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE    MOUNTAIN    BROOK. 

Quickly  does  Nature  make  her  transitions  here. 
The  brown  and  burning  plain,  where  the  antelope 
glimmers  like  a  stilted  ghost  through  the  mirage,  the 
wavy  hills  of  red  or  gray,  the  sandy  washes  covered 
with  prickly  pear,  the  rolling  slopes  clad  with  cobble- 
stones and  cactus,  the  hard  dry  mesas  covered  with 
dreary  black  brush,  the  broad  sweep  of  the  rich  valley, 
and  the  winding  river-bottom  with  its  wide  acres  of 
alluvium — all  these  the  traveler  quickly  leaves  behind 
as  he  enters  the  cafion  up  which  his  trail  into  the 
loftier  mountains  leads.  The  portals  of  the  old  world 
close  quickly  behind  him,  and  a  new  one  opens  before 
him.  He  can  soon  look  upon  lofty  battlements  of  old 
gray  granite  lit  up  with  silvery  fire  where  the  sunlight 
streams  through  the  rifted  clouds:  soon  he  may  hear 
the  breeze  sigh  through  the  tops  of  great  somber 
pines,  and  down  dark  corridors  among  the  massive 
trunks  may  see  the  crimson  plume  of  the  snow-plant 
shining  like  a  red  star  at  night. 

From  the  snow-banks  that  on  these  mountains  glis- 
ten far  into  the  summer  trickle  little  rivulets  that 
unite  in  the  dark  defiles  and  foam  and  tumble  away 
below.  Here  again  the  transition  is  sudden  and  sur- 
prising.    But  a  short  distance  below,  where  the  canon 


THE  MOUNTAIN  BROOK.  IOQ 

opens  upon  the  plains,  the  water  either  sinks  from 
sight  beneath  a  bed  of  sand,  or  flows  on,  a  few  miles, 
warm,  insipid,  and  shallow,  whirling  in  its  current 
small  flakes  of  mica  that  gleam  like  gold,  until  it 
dwindles  to  a  sickly  little  thread  through  the  absorp- 
tive power  of  the  hot,  dry  air  and  the  thirsty  sand 
along  its  course.  But  enter  the  great  walls  of  the 
cafion,  and  there  it  gayly  flows  and  sparkles,  its  waters 
as  cold  and  clear  as  ever  gladdened  a  thirsty  soul. 
Here  it  ripples  over  rapids  of  shingle,  and  there 
dashes  down  some  short  cascade;  here  sleeps  for  a 
moment  in  some  quiet  pool,  and  there  foams  among 
huge  boulders  of  gray  granite  or  snowy  quartz,  its 
bright  waters  covered  by  an  arcade  of  lofty  alders 
and  willows  that  stand  on  each  bank  and  interlace 
their  arms  above  in  perpetual  shade.  Farther  up  it 
divides  into  smaller  brooks,  that  hiss  with  speed 
through  winding  glens,  along  whose  sides  the  wild 
lilac  pours  forth  a  rich  perfume  from  panicles  of 
lavender  and  white;  where  the  mountain  mimulus 
hangs  full  of  golden  trumpets;  where  the  manzanita 
outstretches  its  red  arms  full-hung  with  its  little 
green  apple-shaped  berries,  and  the  wild  mahogany, 
aglow  with  a  bloom  of  white  or  blue,  unites  with  the 
bright-green  cherry  to  form  an  almost  impenetrable 
chaparral.  And  up,  still  up,  leads  the  brook,  its  bot- 
tom perhaps  whiter  and  whiter,  its  waters  even  clearer 
and  colder,  until  at  last  it  becomes  a  mere  succession 
of  basins,  where  the  water  plunges  from  boulder  to 
boulder,  forming  a  chain  of  pools  green  with  clear- 
ness, where  the  foam  for  a  moment  rests,  and  cascades 


I  I O  SOU THERN  CA LIFORNIA . 

where  the  water  is  shattered  into  the  whiteness  of 
snow. 

Is  it  not  almost  enough  to  stretch  one's  weary  limbs 
upon  one  of  the  huge  rocks  that  line  the  creek  and 
gaze  at  the  swift  volume  of  the  waters — now  marching 
in  a  column  of  solid  green,  then  sprawling  broken 
into  a  thousand  flakes  over  some  flat  rock;  now  by  its 
momentum  climbing  some  great  boulder  and  sliding 
in  a  thin  sheet  over  its  top,  then  spouting  in  sparkling 
jets  through  masses  of  lodged  driftwood;  now  mass- 
ing its  forces  for  a  charge  upon  some  barricade  of 
stone,  through  which  it  dashes  into  a  dozen  streams 
of  foam,  then  gathering  itself  again  for  a  rush  upon 
some  backward-leaning  rock,  from  which  it  wdiirls 
upward  and  turns  somersault  and  rolls  off  in  a  swirl 
of  froth  into  a  quiet  pool,  where  it  rests  for  a  moment 
along  the  water-line  of  moss  that  edges  some  dark 
rock  ? 

If  not,  cast  now  the  hook  into  the  whirlpool  where 
the  waters  waltz  at  the  foot  of  some  plunging  sheet, 
or  where  they  sparkle  down  the  rapids  before  taking 
a  roaring  leap  into  the  next  basin.  There  is  a  flash 
for  an  instant  in  the  water  below — a  flash  brighter 
than  the  sheen  of  the  water.  With  a  whirl  and  a 
swish  the  line  cuts  the  surface,  as  the  hook  is  taken 
with  a  rush  under  the  cave  formed  by  some  large 
rock. 

What  manner  of  fish  is  this  that  can  thus  live  un- 
seen in  a  brook  so  small  that  one  can  lightly  step 
over  it  and  see  the  clear  bottom  almost  anywhere  ?  It 
pulls  as  if  weighing  a  dozen   pounds,  carries  the  line 


THE  MOUNTAIN  BROOK.  I  I  I 

from  one  side  of  the  pool  to  the  other  with  a  rush, 
doubles  itself  against  the  water,  and  tries  to  take  the 
hook  downward  again  as  it  nears  the  surface.  Out 
comes  the  hook  at  last  with  a  fish  thrashing  and  flap- 
ping so  vigorously  at  the  end,  that  against  the  back- 
ground of  alder  and  granite  it  looks  like  a  spinning- 
wheel  of  silver  fire.  And  down  it  goes  again,  its 
whole  course  forming  a  glittering  arch  through  the 
dark  arbor  of  leaves  and  rock,  and  sinks  with  a  splash 
into  the  water;  while  the  hook,  from  which  its  strug- 
gles have  freed  it,  takes  a  sure  hold  of  an  alder  branch 
above. 

Scarcely  is  the  line  baited  and  recast  when  there  is 
a  short  curving  gleam  of  light  in  the  water  beside  it. 
Under  the  suddenly  tightening  line  the  rod  feels  as 
though  struck  with  a  club,  and  the  fish  is  away  with 
the  bait  before  you  fully  realize  that  he  has  taken  it. 
But  the  gleam  of  light  remains  for  an  instant  upon  the 
eye,  and  has  a  marvelous  resemblance  to  a  fish  flipping 
the  bait  into  its  mouth  with  its  tail.  The  head  and 
tail  were  close  together,  as  if  almost  touching  each 
other  at  the  moment  that  the  bait  was  taken,  and  the 
tail  seemed  the  nearer  to  the  bait.  This  illusion,  which 
has  led  to  lengthy  discussions,  conducted  with  appar- 
ent seriousness  and  illustrated  by  cuts,  is  caused  by 
the  rapid  turn  of  the  fish  at  the  instant  of  seizing  the 
bait.  It  comes  like  an  arrow  from  its  hiding-place,  and 
is  invisible  until  it  turns.  It  strikes  its  mark  with  un- 
erring certainty,  turns  instantly,  and  darts  away  with 
the  prize.  Or,  if  it  should  fail  to  hold  on,  its  turn  is 
no  less  rapid,  and  away  it  goes  below,  to  make  ready, 


112  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

perhaps,  for  another  rush.  The  fish  often  turns  in 
half  its  own  length,  returning  in  almost  the  same 
course  in  which  it  came  out. 

Perhaps  you  have  learned  before  that  a  bite  does 
not  always  imply  a  fish.  If  not,  you  are  now  in  one 
of  the  best  schools  to  learn  this  wholesome  truth. 
Sharp  must  be  the  hook  and  quick  and  skillful  the 
movement  at  the  moment  the  fish  takes  the  bait. 
Again  the  hook  whirls  for  a  moment  in  the  boiling 
pool,  and  again  it  is  carried  with  a  sudden  twitch 
below.  Then  as  you  pull  upon  it  the  water  around 
the  tightened  line  is  churned  into  flakes  and  bubbles; 
then  a  fish  comes  struggling  a  little  way  out  of 
water,  just  far  enough  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  outer 
world;  then  in  a  twinkling  it  turns  its  back  disdain- 
fully upon  all  above,  and  darts  away  to  the  depths 
below,  while  the  line  again  snaps  like  a  whip-lash  into 
the  alders  above. 

The  hook  again  dances  for  a  minute  in  the  rapids 
that  flow  from  the  last  pool  to  the  one  below,  and 
suddenly  there  is  a  heavy  tug  upon  the  line,  and  away 
it  goes  swaying  from  side  to  side.  How  any  fish  can 
thus  dash  through  such  shallow  waters  and  among  the 
loose  stones  that  break  its  current  into  bubbles  and 
froth  is  quite  as  marvelous  as  the  existence  of  a  fish 
in  such  a  place  without  being  seen.  Out  it  comes' 
nevertheless,  bouncingfrom  side  to  sideand  dancing  up 
and  down  as  though  the  air  were  a  spring-board,  and  in 
a  moment  more  you  hold  in  your  hand  the  mountain- 
trout  of  Southern  California.  This  one  is  about  ten 
inches  long.     Its  back  is  a  bright  olive  green,  growing 


THE  MOUNTAIN  BROOK.  1 1  3 

lighter  toward  the  sides.  The  sides  are  like  the 
purest  mother-of-pearl,  well  dotted  with  little  points 
of  jet,  with  a  thin  dark  stripe  running  lengthwise 
down  the  center  of  each  side.  Beneath  it  is  beamy- 
silver,  that  showers  light  all  around  as  it  fights  its  way 
out  of  your  hand.  Its  head  and  mouth  are  larger 
than  those  of  the  Eastern  trout,  and  it  differs  from  the 
red-speckled  trout  not  only  in  appearance,  but  also  in 
vigor  of  action  and  in  final  flavor. 

As  you  gaze  with  some  feeling  of  regret  upon  the 
beautiful  fish  the  line  is  returned  to  the  water.  Low 
along  the  shore  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  brook 
lies  a  long  white  boulder,  over  which  the  brilliant 
head  of  the  columbine  is  nodding  to  the  lupin  and 
blue-eyed  iris  that  rise  from  the  chinks  in  the  rocks 
behind  it.  The  water  against  this  boulder  lies  deep 
and  green  as  it  swirls  for  a  moment  along  the  white 
sides  before  rolling  away  in  bubbling  volume  to  the 
rapids  below.  The  whole  is  scarcely  larger  than 
many  a  stone  basin  at  a  fountain,  and  seems  scarce 
worthy  of  a  trial.  Yet  the  hook  is  taken  with  a  rush 
and  a  bright  gleam  of  light  at  the  very  instant  it 
touches  the  surface,  and  the  rod  is  almost  pulled  from 
your  hand.  Away  goes  the  hook  with  a  dash  to  the 
opposite  side,  then  the  line  cleaves  the  water  into  two 
shining  ridges  as  the  fish  darts  towards  the  rapids. 
Just  as  you  think  you  have  the  line  tight  enough  upon 
it,  it  turns  with  another  bright  gleam.  Vainly  will 
you  now  try  to  pull  it  directly  out.  It  will  either 
break  the  line  or  tear  its  mouth  loose  from  the  hook. 
The  problem    is   now   one   that   only  an   experienced 


114  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

angler  can  solve.  A  small  pool  like  this,  with  low 
hanging  branches  all  around,  is  a  bad  place  to  study 
such  a  problem;  and  before  you  can  think  what  to  do 
the  fish  is  gone. 

But  a  few  years  ago  these  fish  were  so  plenty  in 
these  mountains  and  so  tame  that  a  failure  in  fishing 
was  an  impossibility  for  any  one.  They  dashed  in 
full  confidence  at  the  clumsiest  bait  upon  the  coarsest 
line.  A  fresh  fish  was  often  ready  to  take  in  a  mo- 
ment the  same  bait  that  had  already  caught  two  or 
three.  And  often  six  or  eight  trout  were  taken  in 
succession  from  the  same  little  pool  or  rapids.  Little 
difference  did  it  make  in  what  part  of  the  stream  one 
cast  the  hook.  And  often  one  could  have  good  suc- 
cess while  standing  in  plain  view  of  the  water.  More 
care  and  skill  must  now  be  used  there;  but  by  ascend- 
ing the  streams  farther  into  the  mountains  an  inex- 
perienced person  may  still  take  plenty  of  trout.  It 
is  thought  by  many  that  these  trout  will  not  take  the 
artificial  fly.  But  this  is  an  error,  and  the  experi- 
enced fly-caster  may  yet  catch  large  fish  where  the 
common  angler  gets  almost  nothing. 


THE   SEA-FISHING.  1 1 5 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE    SEA-FISHING. 


Some  of  the  best  fish  of  the  Atlantic  are  missing  in 
the  salt  waters  of  California,  and  many  kinds  exist- 
ing here  are  inferior  in  flavor  to  similar  fish  found  in 
the  Atlantic.  Yet  the  waters  that  lap  the  southern 
coast  of  California  contain  an  abundance  of  excellent 
fish.  And  many  are  so  strong  and  active  upon  the 
hook  that  their  capture  will  stir  a  tumult  in  the 
steadiest  nerves.  Not  only  is  there  a  pleasant  cer- 
tainty of  finding  fish,  but  there  is  a  softness  about  the 
great  ocean  that  disarms  all  the  doubts  of  the  faint- 
hearted, and  leaves  pleasure  unalloyed  with  fear.  For 
the  long  train  of  cloudless  days  that  here  forms  the 
summer  and  autumn  reaches  far  out  upon  the  sea,  so 
that  the  character  of  each  day  may  be  foretold  with 
certainty.  The  never-failing  sea  breeze  is  so  sure  not 
to  exceed  a  certain  velocity;  the  smooth  water  is  so 
certain  to  be  unruffled  by  squalls,  and  the  cloudless 
sky  is  so  certain  to  bear  no  thunder-storm,  no  cyclone, 
no  rain,  that  a  day's  fishing  is  more  like  a  sail  on  a 
mill-pond  than  on  the  mightiest  of  oceans.  There  is 
plenty  of  good  fishing  in  the  bays,  with  a  rare  and 
varied  assortment  of  excellent  fish.  But  the  fishing 
outside  is  the  most  exciting,  while  the  surroundings 
are  the  most  attractive. 


Il6  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

A  more  unpromising  day  for  sailing  never  opened 
than  this  bright,  still  morning  opens  on  the  Bay  of 
San  Diego.  Like  some  wood-embowered  lake,  it  lies 
glassy  and  shining,  with  no  swell  in  the  channel,  no 
ripple  along  the  shore,  no  lapping  of  its  waters 
against  the  pier.  "  No  sailing  to-day,"  the  stranger 
would  naturally  say.  But  the  dweller  upon  these 
quiet  shores  knows  better.  He  shakes  the  last  reef 
from  the  snowy  sail  and  waits  in  patience. 

Not  long  does  anxiety  consume  his  soul,  for  already 
a  deeper  blue  is  tinging  the  waters  down  the  bay,  and 
off  the  mouth  of  Spanish  Bight  its  smooth  surface 
begins  to  wrinkle.  The  sail  soon  yawns  and  stretches, 
and  the  boom  swings  lazily  over  to  the  landward 
side.  As  the  sun  mounts  higher  through  the  dreamy 
haze  that  lies  along  the  inland  hills,  ripples  begin  to 
sparkle  in  the  channel,  the  plash  of  water  is  soon 
heard  against  the  bow,  the  wrinkles  fade  from  the 
bellying  sail,  the  little  vessel  careens  to  leeward,  and 
the  gentle  plash  along  the  bow  soon  changes  to  a 
steady  thump-thump. 

On  we  go  through  the  ship-channel,  with  the  shores 
of  the  peninsula  on  the  left,  and  on  the  right  the  high 
rolling  slopes  of  Point  Loma,  with  its  lofty  light- 
house clear  cut  against  the  blue  sky  on  the  west;  and 
on  through  the  narrow  entrance  at  Ballast  Point, 
where  a  lazy  swell  rolling  beneath  the  boat  tells  us 
we  are  nearing  the  sea.  The  land  soon  widens,  the 
harbor  is  past,  and  on,  on,  on  we  go  over  swells  so 
long,  so  lazy,  and  so  smooth  that  we  know  not  when 
we  cross  the  bar.     We  can  see  far  down  the  outside 


THE   SEA-FISHING.  WJ 

line  of  the  peninsula  that  forms  the  harbor;  but  there 
are  no  long,  green  lines  of  foam-crowned  water  charg- 
ing upon  it  with  impetuous  rush.  Only  little  threads 
of  white  near  shore  that  curl  and  froth  more  like  the 
wash  of  a  steamer  in  some  inland  river  than  the 
breakers  of  a  mighty  sea.  The  porpoise  rolls  in  glis- 
tening curves  over  the  water  beyond;  from  out  the 
swell  beside  us  the  seal  rears  his  round  head,  wet, 
black,  and  shiny  in  the  sun,  and  turns  upon  the  boat 
his  great  human  eyes.  But  otherwise  it  looks  little 
different  from  the  harbor  we  have  left,  for  the  sea- 
gull, as  if  inside,  calmly  sits  on  the  floating  kelp,  and 
the  white  pelican  drifts  along  on  the  gently  heaving 
surface,  stands  in  long  ranks  along  the  shore,  or  flaps 
his  way  lazily  through  the  air,  descending  with  heavy 
splash  into  the  water  as  he  spies  some  appetizing  fish. 
And  off  on  one  side,  near  the  harbor  entrance,  a  score 
or  more  of  pelicans  are  fishing  in  company,  as  they 
do  sometimes  in  the  harbor,  one  rising  from  the  water 
before  the  last  one  descends,  so  that  they  seem  a  re- 
volving chain  of  large  white  bodies. 

Meanwhile  our  trolling-lines,  having  at  the  end 
large  hooks  wrapped  with  white  rag  with  a  streamer 
or  two  floating  an  inch  or  two  beyond  them — a  device 
quite  as  good  as  bone,  ivory,  or  a  genuine  fish  if  it 
only  goes  fast  enough — have  been  gliding  through 
the  water  behind,  but  have  captured  nothing  but  a 
few  shreds  of  floating  sea-weed.  But  there  is  no 
ground  for  despair.  It  is  too  early  in  the  day, 
and  the  breeze  is  not  yet  strong  enough  for  good 
speed.     Two  brown  streaks  in  the  water  just  behind 


Il8  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

the  hooks,  visible  only  to  him  who  knows  what  they 
mean,  tell  us  that  fish  are  here.  They  are  about  two 
feet  long  and  one  and  one-half  inches  wide,  and  are 
a  few  inches  beneath  the  surface  of  the  water.  They 
are  barracuda  inspecting  the  bait.  As  some  hunters 
do  not  care  to  shoot  a  bird  upon  the  ground,  so  these 
fish  care  nothing  for  the  bait  until  on  the  wing.  They 
will  often  follow  it  for  a  hundred  yards  or  more  with- 
out attempting  to  touch  it.  But  let  it  go  fast  enough 
and  they  often  come  with  a  rush  and  throw  them- 
selves half  out  of  water  as  they  take  it. 

On  each  side  the  ship-channel,  beyond  the  bar,  is  a 
long  bed  of  kelp,  and  it  is  often  well  to  run  into  that 
and  try  still  fishing  until  the  wind  reaches  its  full 
power  at  mid-day.  The  kelp-fish  are  very  different 
from  those  caught  by  trolling,  and  some  of  them  are 
of  very  fine  flavor.  In  the  kelp  the  surface  is  perfect- 
ly glassy,  though  the  water  rocks  with  a  short,  un- 
easy swell.  But  by  letting  down  the  sail,  and  mak- 
ing a  rope  fast  to  a  bunch  of  the  long  brown  leaves 
of  the  kelp,  a  good  enough  anchorage  is  made.  The 
tackle  needed  for  these  kelp-fish  is  very  simple.  A 
long  line  with  a  sinker  at  the  end,  and  a  hook  or  two 
baited  with  meat,  and  attached  several  feet  above  the 
sinker,  so  that  the  hook  shall  not  rest  upon  the  bot- 
tom, but  be  quite  near  it,  is  thrown  out,  and  down  it 
goes,  full  twenty  fathoms  to  the  bottom.  The  green 
tint  the  water  wears  outside  of  the  kelp  is  gone. 
Here  it  is  deeply  blue,  yet  so  transparent  that  one 
can  almost  see  to  the  bottom.  Far  below  the  kelp 
can    be    seen   reaching  out   its  great  arms  on  every 


THE   SEA-FISHING.  II9 

hand,  like  some  monster  of  the  deep;  and  in  the  open- 
ings between  them  floats  many  a  shapely  fish,  almost 
as  clearly  seen  as  if  in  an  aquarium.  Some  are  lithe 
and  trim,  others  thick  and  stubby.  Some  are  a  light 
grayish-brown  upon  the  back  and  mottled  with  dark 
brown  spots;  others  are  deep  olive-green,  and  others 
are  a  brilliant  red. 

But  a  sudden  tug  upon  your  line  interrupts  your 
inspection  of  the  blue  depths.  Up  comes  the  line, 
bringing  a  lot  of  kelp-leaves  entangled  within  it,  but 
at  the  end  is  a  flapping,  thrashing  mass  of  crimson. 
This  is  called  the  "red-fish"  {Pimelometopon  pulcher). 
It  is  about  twelve  inches  long,  broad  and  deep  of 
body,  and  rounded  upon  the  back,  and  is  a  bright 
crimson,  shading  toward  flesh-color  underneath.  It 
is  a  fish  of  very  fair  flavor.  Scarcely  do  you  get  him 
free  of  the  hook  before  there  is  a  tug  upon  the  other 
line.  Up  it  comes,  bringing  a  larger  fish  than  the 
last,  struggling  vigorously  and  gathering  plenty  of 
kelp-leaves  around  him  before  he  clears  the  water. 
A  very  good  fish  this  (Heterostichus  rosiratus),  but  not 
very  fascinating  in  appearance.  It  is  about  fifteen 
inches  long,  deep  and  broad  like  the  last  fish,  but  is  a 
pale  brownish-gray  in  color,  with  dull,  leaden  eye, 
and,  along  with  several  other  varieties,  is  commonly 
called  "  kelp-fish." 

And  now  comes  a  fish  well  worth  catching.  He 
thrashes  about  with  great  vigor  as  he  is  lifted  over 
the  edge  of  the  boat  ;  his  eyes  are  bright  and  full  of 
fire,  and  the  spines  of  his  dorsal  fin  stand  savagely 
erect.     He  is  about  a  foot  long,  deep  and   thick  in 


120  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

body,  but  withal  trimly  built;  has  a  large  head,  and 
full,  massive  jaw,  and  is  well  dotted  with  brown  spots. 
This  is  the  "rock  cod  "  {Scrranus  maculo  fasciatus),  one 
of  the  best  table-fish  upon  the  coast. 

Thus  fish  after  fish  comes  struggling  out,  good-look- 
ing, passable,  and  homely,  with  an  occasional  green- 
ish carp,  mottled  with  brown,  and  carrying,  perhaps, 
a  few  barnacles  upon  his  back,  until  the  fullness  of 
the  breeze  advises  that  it  is  time  to  troll.  Other 
boats  and  Chinese  junks  outside  the  kelp  are  rolling 
here  and  there  over  the  lazily  heaving  surface,  and  on 
the  stern  of  each  are  men  hauling  in  lines  hand-over- 
hand, and  something  flashes  upon  the  end  as  it  is 
hauled  up  the  stern. 

Once  more,  then,  upon  the  open  water.  Though 
the  water  is  still  smooth,  there  is  a  decided  increase 
in  the  breeze;  the  boat  now  leaves  a  foamy  track, 
and  the  hooks  ride  so  near  the  surface,  with  the  in- 
crease of  speed,  that  their  white  swathing  is  plainly 
seen  as  they  spin  down  the  slope  of  each  receding 
swell.  And  before  they  have  passed  many  swells  your 
line  is  twitched  from  your  hand  and  a  line  of  silvery 
light  shines  for  an  instant  below  the  surface  where  the 
hook  was  just  riding.  From  side  to  side  the  line  cuts 
the  water  with  a  swish  as  you  haul  it  in,  and  a  long, 
bright,  and  slender  fish  jumps  above  or  darts  below 
with  frantic  rushes.  You  may  have  thought  the 
tackle  was  clumsy  and  unscientific  when  you  first  saw 
it;  but  you  now  wish  it  were  a  trifle  stronger,  if 
anything.  There  is  no  time  to  play  this  fish  or 
drown  it.     It  must  be  hauled  quickly  in,  for  a  heavy 


THE   SEA-FISHING.  121 

splash  at  the  end  of  your  other  line  announces  thai 
there  is  plenty  to  do.  In  comes  the  prize,  hammering 
the  stern  of  the  boat  with  its  tail  as  it  comes  up, 
cutting  all  manner  of  figures  in  the  air  until  drawn 
over  the  side.  Arriving  in  the  boat,  it  dances  on 
either  head  or  tail  with  about  equal  facility,  until  you 
tighten  the  line  and  begin  to  speculate  upon  the 
safest  method  of  getting  the  hook  out  of  the  sharkish 
mouth.  This  fish  is  the  "  barracuda"  {Sphymna  ar- 
gentea),  one  of  the  best  fish  of  the  Pacific  Ocean.  It 
is  nearly  a  yard  long,  lithe  and  shapely,  with  bright, 
pearly  sides,  and  a  dark  line  down  the  center  of  each 
side.  It  has  all  the  appearance  of  a  pickerel,  though 
much  brighter  and  clearer  in  color.  It  has  the  ravenous 
jaw,  with  rows  of  serrated  teeth,  and  the  same  trim 
figure,  built  for  speed,  and  is,  in  fact,  a  great  ocean 
pickerel. 

But  there  is  little  time  to  examine  the  prize,  for  at 
the  other  hooks  there  is  a  vigorous  splashing  of  the 
water  and  a  confusion  among  the  lines,  which  are  car- 
ried across  each  other  with  a  rush,  and  then  brought 
back  again  with  another  rush  that  betokens  an  inter- 
esting tangle  among  them.  And  there,  too,  the  hook 
you  have  just  taken  from  the  mouth  of  the  barracuda, 
and  tossed  again  into  the  water,  is  caught  again  by  a 
bright  object  darting  up  from  below  the  instant  the 
line  is  straightened  and  the  hook  is  under  full  head- 
way. Four  fish  are  now  dashing  and  flashing  about 
on  the  ends  of  the  four  lines,  and  all  of  the  lines  but 
the  one  last  thrown  out  are  in  such  a  tangle  that  it  is 
best  to  leave  them  and  get  in  the  last  line  before  it> 
6 


122  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

too,  is  added  to  the  rope  into  which  the  other  three 
are  fast  being  twisted. 

Be  careful  now  of  your  fingers,  for  you  have  caught 
a  fish  even  stronger  and  more  active  than  the  barra- 
cuda. The  line  runs  from  right  to  left  and  back 
again  through  the  water,  throwing  up  ridges  of  foam 
in  its  rapid  course.  But  though  the  line  is  slowly 
taken  up,  each  sidewise  run  of  the  fish  is  bent  nearer 
and  nearer  the  boat.  It  feels  as  if  it  weighed  a  hun- 
dred pounds,  but,  nevertheless,  it  is  coming.  And 
now,  as  he  nears  the  boat,  the  victim  darts  about  with 
frantic  rushes  of  wondrous  speed.  Now  he  dashes 
away  towards  the  boat's  bow,  as  far  off  on  the  side  as 
the  line  will  allow,  laying  himself  over  so  that  the 
light  gleams  in  a  broad  band  from  his  side  of  silver 
and  gold.  Now  downward  into  the  dark-green  depths 
he  plunges,  and  away  goes  the  line  under  the  boat,  and 
out  he  comes  again  behind,  breaking  from  the  water 
with  an  upward  rush  that  throws  him  over  the  other 
three  lines. 

With  much  exertion,  the  four  lines  are  finally 
hauled  in  together,  though  our  fingers  smart  well  for 
it,  as  on  the  end  of  each  line  a  fish  goes  tearing 
about.  In  a  moment  confusion  reigns  in  the  boat. 
There  is  a  gay  medley  of  heads  and  tails;  of  shining, 
throbbing  sides  and  tangled  lines;  of  hands  vainly 
feeling  for  a  secure  hold,  and  feet  vainly  exploring 
for  an  anchorage  upon  bouncing  vibrations  of  opa- 
lescence and  pearl.  For  three  barracudas  and  one 
Spanish  mackerel  are  on  the  lines.  This  is  not  the 
Spanish   mackerel   of   the  Atlantic,  though  called   by 


THE   SEA-FISHING.  1 23 

the  same  name.  Though  inferior  in  flavor  to  that 
splendid  fish,  it  is  still,  when  well  cooked,  a  highly- 
respectable  fish,  and  in  gamy  qualities  inferior  to  few 
fish  of  its  size.  This  fish  (S/iarda  chilensis)  is  a  little 
deeper  and  thicker  than  true  mackerel  proportions 
demand,  but  has  the  unmistakable  tail,  mouth,  and 
markings  of  the  mackerel  family.  It  is  about  two  feet 
long,  weighs  from  eight  to  twelve  pounds,  and  is  lus- 
trous with  the  most  delicate  shades  of  green,  gold,  opal, 
and  pearl.  Long  after  the  barracudas  have  ceased 
bouncing,  it  hammers  the  deck  with  alternate  strokes 
of  head  and  tail,  and  if  not  secured  will  bounce  itself 
overboard  quickly  enough. 

The  lines  are  finally  disentangled,  the  hooks  need 
no  baiting,  and  in  a  moment  are  floating  away  behind. 
No  sooner  are  the  lines  fairly  straightened,  and  the 
hooks  again  under  full  speed,  than  there  is  a  sudden 
swish  and  a  splash  in  the  water,  and  two  of  the  hooks 
are  taken  at  one  dash.  Another  swish  and  splash, 
and  the  other  two  hooks  are  taken  before  we  have 
the  first  two  hauled  in  one  fourth  of  the  way. 
There  will  now  be  little  time  to  rest,  for  we  are  in 
the  midst  of  a  school  of  fish.  But  we  may  as  well  be 
calm  about  it.  We  shall  at  all  events  get  all  the  fish 
we  need  and  have  all  the  line-burnt  fingers  that  a 
successful  fisherman  requires.  What  if  we  take  in 
the  lines  and  roll  about  for  a  while  on  the  long, 
tumbling  swells  !  The  weather  is  so  soft  and  so 
cool,  the  sky  so  bright,  yet  the  sun  so  mild  !  There 
never  was  such  a  day  to  lie  down  and  smoke;  to  gaze 
upon  the  great  shining  plain  upon  the  west,  or  on  the 


124  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

long  lines  of  dreamy  blue  mountains  on  the  east;  to 
listen  to  the  ripple  and  thumping  of  the  waters  at  the 
bow  and  the  fluttering  of  the  streamer  at  the  mast- 
head; to  feel  the  little  vessel  careen  as  she  goes  slid- 
ing down  the  shorter  slope  of  some  great  swell,  right- 
ing herself  as  she  climbs  the  long  slope  of  the  next 
one,  yet  feeling  all  the  time  as  secure  as  if  taking  a 
moonlight  row  on  some  small  lake,  where  the  winds 
are  hushed  for  the  day. 

But  there  is  little  rest  for  the  angler  in  the  midst 
of  fish.  Again  the  lines  are  tossed  out,  and  in  an  in- 
stant we  see  that  we  are  still  in  the  school.  Here  a 
greedy  barracuda  swallows  hook,  rags,  and  all,  and 
before  it  is  extracted  from  the  ravenous  throat  an- 
other is  tugging  at  the  other  line,  and  three  or  four 
brown  backs  lie  close  behind  in  the  water  awaiting  a 
chance  at  the  hook.  And  on  another  line  a  Spanish 
mackerel  is  careening  wildly  about,  dashing  over,  un- 
der, and  all  around  the  other  lines.  Upon  our  lee  is 
a  large  Chinese  junk  that  we  are  fast  overtaking;  and 
fish  are  flapping  and  flashing  up  the  stern  to  the  deck, 
where  three  Chinamen,  each  with  two  lines,  are  chat- 
tering and  grabbing  at  the  fish  as  they  bounce  and 
dance  on  the  deck.  On  the  weather-bow  a  pilot-boat 
is  gayly  rolling  over  the  swells  with  three  or  four 
men  in  the  stern,  and  we  can  see  the  light  shine 
from  fish  as  they  are  drawn  struggling  up  the  side 
and  thrash  about  upon  the  deck.  And  behind  all  of 
the  three  boats  there  is  a  rush  and  splash  and  jump  of 
fish  as  if  half  a  dozen  were  fighting  among  themselves 
for  the  first  chance  at  the  hooks, 


THE  ANIMALS.  1 25 


CHAPTER   XI. 


THE    ANIMALS. 


The  wild  animals  of  Southern  California  are  nu- 
merous, though  many  of  them  differ  considerably 
from  the  same  species  as  found  east  of  the  Sierras. 
The  distribution  of  all  but  the  hares  is  very  variable. 

The  elk  has  not  been  known  south  of  the  San 
Joaquin  valley  since  the  discovery  of  gold,  and  even 
there  is  probably  now  extinct.  The  gray  wolf,  too,  is 
nearly  extinct;  and,  south  of  the  great  mountains  of 
Los  Angeles,  Kern,  and  Ventura  counties,  the  grizzly 
bear  is  almost  gone.  A  few  mountain  sheep  are  left 
on  some  of  the  larger  mountains,  and  some  antelope 
on  the  larger  plains.  The  panther  occasionally  kills 
a  deer  or  raids  a  sheepfold,  but  is  rarely  seen.  Two 
kinds  of  wild-cat — one  of  a  tawny  brindle,  the  other  a 
gray  brindle,  and  by  many  called  "lynx" — are  quite 
abundant,  and  display  marvelous  dexterity  in  pull- 
ing the  shingles  from  the  roof  of  a  chicken-house 
and  climbing  out  with  a  chicken,  or  climbing  around 
on  the  slats  on  the  sides,  scaring  the  poultry  off  the 
roosts,  until  the  scared  fowls  stick  their  heads  be- 
tween the  slats,  when  they  pull  off  their  heads,  and 
often  pull  out  the  whole  body  piecemeal. 

The  coyote  is  about  the  same  as  the  coyote  of  the 
alkaline  plains.    He  lives  mainly  in  holes  which  he  bur- 


126  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

rows  in  the  plains  or  in  the  hills,  though  he  often  lives 
in  chinks  in  the  rocks,  and  sometimes  dispenses  with 
all  cover  except  the  dense  chaparral.  He  makes  night 
tuneful  with  his  yelps,  and  his  long,  gaunt  form  adds 
to  the  landscape  a  decided  expression,  as  at  the  rising 
of  the  sun  he  scuds  away  over  the  plain.  He  eats 
everything,  from  a  quail's  egg  to  a  humming-bird,  from 
a  water-melon  to  a  sheep;  is  very  adroit  in  his  descent 
upon  some  old  hen  that  strays  too  near  the  brush, 
and  can  scare  one  off  the  roost,  if  the  door  happens 
open,  and  seize  it  in  less  time  than  the  wild-cat  can 
climb  up  for  it.  The  red  fox  is  abundant,  though 
smaller  than  the  red  fox  of  the  Atlantic  States,  and 
has  a  grayer  coat.  He  is  a  master  in  catching  quails 
and  hares,  and  can  snap  up  a  stray  hen  almost  as 
deftly  as  the  coyote.  The  raccoon  is  abundant  in 
places,  though  it  seldom  lives  in  trees,  preferring 
holes  in  the  rocks,  the  heavy  masses  of  rushes  or 
reeds  around  lagoons,  or  the  heavy  brush  along  river- 
bottoms.  Like  the  fox  and  coyote,  it  is  very  fond  of 
grapes,  and  will  go  miles  at  night  to  a  vineyard. 
The  badger  is  abundant,  though  smaller  than  the 
badger  of  the  Upper  Mississippi,  and  witli  more  gray 
in  its  coat.  It  lives  in  both  the  hills  and  plains,  and 
seems  to  have  the  same  habits  as  the  Eastern  badger. 
The  woodchuck,  opossum,  mink,  musk-rat,  martin, 
otter,  wolverine,  and  beaver  seem  to  be  wanting.  A 
brown  weasel  is  abundant  in  a  few  places,  but  over 
large  tracts  is  never  seen.  The  ermine,  too,  is  miss- 
ing. The  rat  family  is  well  represented,  and  though 
lacking  the  audacity  of  the  Norway  rat,  can  yet  sus- 


THE  ANIMALS.  12J 

tain  in  a  creditable  manner  the  family  reputation  for 
mischief.  Two  varieties  of  wood-rat  are  common — 
one  almost  as  large  as  the  Norway,  the  other  about 
half  as  large.  They  build  nests  of  brush,  the  smaller 
one  mainly  in  trees,  the  larger  one  more  often  upon 
the  ground.  Some  of  these  nests  are  three  feet  in 
diameter,  and  nearly  as  high.  Another  kind,  often 
mistaken  for  the  tree-rat,  lives  in  holes  in  the 
ground. 

The  native  mouse  is  of  a  lighter  gray  than  the 
Eastern  mouse,  has  larger  ears,  and  a  more  fuzzy 
tail,  especially  toward  the  tip.  There  are  two  kinds 
of  this  mouse — one  living  in  the  ground,  the  other 
more  in  brush  and  trees.  There  is  a  short-tailed 
ground-mouse,  much  like  the  Eastern  meadow-mouse, 
but  larger.  It  rarely  or  never  enters  houses.  There 
is  also  a  long-tailed  jumping-mouse,  or  jerboa,  often 
called  "kangaroo  mouse."  It  is  of  light  gray  above 
and  whitish  below,  with  large  ears  and  long  tail.  It  is 
larger  than  the  common  mouse,  long  and  lithe,  with 
very  long  hind  legs,  disappearing  with  long  jumps, 
much  like  the  kangaroo,  but  touching  the  ground 
with  its  fore  feet.  It  lives  mainly  in  piles  of  brush 
built  upon  the  ground,  or  in  low  bushes,  and  does 
little  or  no  mischief.  Another,  resembling  a  squirrel 
as  much  as  a  mouse,  longer  and  lither,  running  with 
great  speed  and  long,  high  jumps,  is  of  light  gray, 
nearly  white  along  the  center  of  the  back  and  hips, 
and  with  a  fuzzy  tail  of  gray  and  white.  It  lives 
mainly  in  the  low  clumps  of  prickly  pear  in  the  dry, 
sandy  half-desert  sections,  and  is  never  seen  even  in 


128  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

many  of  those.  It  seems  perfectly  harmless,  though 
very  wild. 

The  ground  mole  is  rare,  and  is  smaller  and  even 
finer  of  hair  than  the  Eastern  mole.  The  gopher  is 
larger  than  the  gopher  of  Minnesota,  and  of  dark- 
brown  color,  and  hardly  ever  leaves  its  hole,  even  for 
a  foot  or  two.  It  comes  to  the  surface  but  twice  a 
day — in  the  morning  and  evening — to  clear  out  its 
hole.  It  builds  long  galleries  or  runs,  underground, 
some  being  a  hundred  yards  long,  with  many 
branches.  The  mole  plows  up  the  ground;  the 
gopher  carries  it  out.  On  each  side  of  the  neck  is 
a  large  pouch,  into  which  it  paws  the  dirt  as  it  ex- 
cavates. When  the  pouches  are  full  it  goes  to  the 
surface  and  empties  them,  leaving  little  piles  of  dirt 
here  and  there.  It  works  about  half  an  hour  or  so  at 
a  time,  and  always  closes  up  the  hole  before  leaving- 
Although  they  show  little  more  than  the  head  above 
ground  and  are  very  quick,  a  cat  that  understands 
them  can  readily  catch  them. 

The  red  squirrel,  fox  squirrel,  flying  squirrel,  black 
squirrel,  and  chipmunk  of  the  East  seem  to  be  miss- 
ing, again.  Above  an  elevation  of  four  thousand  feet 
is  a  gray  squirrel,  apparently  the  same  as  the  one 
found  East,  though  its  habits  and  bark  are  quite  dif- 
ferent from  those  of  the  latter.  At  five  or  six  thou- 
sand feet  is  found  a  thick-set,  bob-tailed,  striped- 
sided  chipmunk,  about  twice  the  size  of  the  Eastern 
chipmunk.  It  climbs  but  little,  living  in  the  ground 
and  in  holes  in  the  rocks  and  fallen  trees.  At  about 
the   same    height    is   sometimes  found   a  squirrel   of 


THE  ANIMALS.  I2Q 

about  the  same  size,  build,  and  activity  as  the  red 
squirrel  of  the  East,  but  of  a  dull-gray  color.  I  have 
seen  this  squirrel  on  only  one  mountain,  and  had  no 
time  then  to  observe  its  habits.  Still  higher  up,  even 
to  where  the  trees  begin  to  grow  dwarfed  and  to  dis- 
appear, lives  the  most  delicate  and  interesting  of  all 
the  squirrel  tribe — a  little  gray  thing  like  an  attenu- 
ated mouse,  with  a  black  stripe  on  its  back  from  the 
center  of  its  head  to  the  tip  of  its  tail.  It  surpasses 
the  Eastern  red  squirrel  in  speed  as  much  as  the  red 
squirrel  surpasses  the  clumsy  fox  squirrel,  flitting 
rather  than  springing  from  tree  to  tree — a  flash  from 
an  overcharged  battery  of  vitality.  But  the  most 
common  squirrel  is  the  ground-squirrel,  found  mainly 
in  the  lowlands,  generally  in  open  ground,  and  dis- 
appearing at  five  or  six  thousand  feet,  or  in  very 
heavy  mountain  timber.  It  is  about  the  size  of  the 
gray  squirrel,  but  built  a  trifle  heavier  behind.  Its 
color  is  a  dirty  gray,  lightly  mottled.  Its  tail  is 
neither  so  long  nor  so  heavily  clad  with  hair  as  that 
of  the  gray  squirrel,  but  in  other  respects  it  might 
readily  be  mistaken  for  it.  Notwithstanding  a  strong 
prejudice  to  the  contrary,  they  are  very  good  eating, 
especially  when  young.  But  they  are  so  plenty  and 
such  a  pest  that  few  ever  touch  them.  They  are  fair 
tree-climbers,  and  can  even  spring  from  tree  to  tree, 
though  not  as  far  as  the  gray  squirrel;  yet  they  never 
live  in  trees,  unless  in  a  fallen  one,  but  inhabit  holes 
in  the  ground  and  chinks  in  the  big  rocks.  Their 
numbers  are  often  amazing,  whole  hill-sides  being 
sometimes  honeycombed  with  their  holes.     Often  one 


I30  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

may  see  fifty  scampering  up  a  hill-side  from  a  grain- 
field  at  one's  approach,  or  hear  a  dozen  drop  out  of 
a  peach-tree  with  a  plump,  plump,  plump,  plump  on  the 
ground,  each  one  scudding  away,  perhaps,  with  a 
whole  peach  in  its  mouth.  They  are  very  destruc- 
tive, eating  all  sorts  of  grain,  fruit,  and  garden  stuff, 
and  finding  their  way  to  the  corn-crib  or  barley-sack 
very  readily.  They  are  often  bold  enough  to  enter  a 
house,  if  no  one  is  about,  and  have  been  known  to 
climb  on  the  table  and  attack  the  butter-plate,  even 
when  the  family  was  in  the  next  room.  But,  as  a 
rule,  they  are  now  quite  wild.  These  squirrels,  with 
the  whole  rat,  mouse,  gopher,  and  hare  tribe,  can 
live  without  water.  A  dry  winter,  however,  stops 
their  increase,  as  it  does  that  of  the  bees,  hares,  and 
valley  quails.  They  seem  to  know  there  will  be  a 
scarcity  of  food.  In  such  years  no  young  are  seen, 
and  in  the  latter  part  of  the  season  even  the  old  ones 
disappear,  becoming  dormant,  and  awaiting  in  their 
holes  the  rains  of  the  next  winter. 

All  the  hares  are  much  superior  in  flavor  to  those  of 
the  East,  but  are  so  common  that  many  are  prej- 
udiced against  them.  The  large  hare,  or  "jack- 
rabbit,"  weighs  seven  or  eight  pounds,  and  is  of 
tawny  gray,  streaked  with  black  hairs  upon  the 
back,  but  is  a  bright  tan  color  underneath.  Its  ears 
are  nearly  double  the  length  of  those  of  the  Eastern 
rabbit;  its  tail  longer  and  narrower  and  striped  with 
black.  It  is  found  as  high  as  five  thousand  feet, 
though  it  becomes  rare  beyond  three  thousand,  and 
is  most  abundant  in  the  lower  levels.     There  is  little 


THE  ANIMALS.  I3I 

ground  too  poor  for  it  to  inhabit.  It  thrives  without 
water  or  green  food  of  any  kind,  and  in  the  driest 
and  hottest  parts  of  the  land,  miles  away  from  either, 
its  young  will  be  as  sleek  of  coat  and  as  bright  of  eye 
as  if  daily  groomed  and  kept  on  fresh  cabbages.  It 
is,  however,  a  great  lover  of  green  food  when  obtain- 
able, and  will  travel  miles  at  night  across  bare  plains 
and  ravage  a  melon-patch,  in  spite  of  half  a  dozen 
dogs  staked  out  around  the  edges  to  preserve  it. 

Few  animals  are  more  graceful  than  this  hare, 
whether  skimming  the  plain  before  the  outstretched 
greyhound,  or,  roused  from  his  form,  he  dashes  away 
with  high  jumps  as  if  to  take  a  better  view  of  the  in- 
truder, or,  stopping  and  rearing  upon  his  hind  legs, 
stands  erect,  with  ears  pointed  at  the  zenith,  and  sur- 
veys him  at  safe  distance,  then  again  lengthens  out 
his  trim  form  and  hugs  the  ground  like  a  racer  until 
a  mile  away,  Sometimes  at  early  morning  or  evening 
you  may  see  him  scudding  along  the  plain  as  if  in 
play,  running  two  or  three  miles,  perhaps,  most  of  the 
time  at  high  speed.  And  thus  he  plays  about  until 
the  sun  gets  warm,  when  he  will  stand  or  sit  a  few 
moments  in  the  shade  of  a  bush  or  rock,  and  then  re- 
tire to  some  bush,  low  shrub,  or  bunch  of  flowers, 
where,  if  not  disturbed,  he  sits  till  about  sundown. 
A  fine  runner  he  is,  too,  and  gifted  with  good  staying 
qualities.  It  takes  a  good  greyhound  to  overtake  the 
best  of  them,  while  the  slowest  ones  distance  a  com- 
mon dog  at  every  bound. 

Not  only  does  this  hare  furnish  fine  coursing  with 
greyhounds,  but   it  is  an    interesting  subject  for  the 


132  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

rifle.  Running  across  the  line  of  fire  under  full  speed, 
even  at  only  twenty  -  five  yards,  he  makes  a  mark 
of  which  no  rifleman  can  be  too  confident.  And  his 
antics  when  you  miss  him  are  often  more  interesting 
than  to  see  him  turn  half  a  dozen  somersaults  when 
hit.  Sometimes  he  springs  a  yard  high,  as  the  dust 
flies  from  the  ground  beneath  him,  and  away  he  goes 
at  a  swifter  pace  than  before,  or  wheels  off  at  a  right 
angle.  Often,  when  the  ball  strikes  ahead  of  him,  he 
doubles  instantly,  without  another  forward  jump,  and 
speeds  away  upon  his  back  track  as  swiftly  as  he 
came  down  it  before.  And  sometimes,  when  the  ball 
sings  between  his  ears,  he  will  suddenly  stop  and 
shake  his  head,  apparently  as  dazed  as  some  long- 
eared  people  are  when  they  hear  fine  music. 

The  larger  "cotton-tail"  is  about  three  fourths  the 
size  of  the  common  hare  of  the  Atlantic  States,  and  of 
about  the  same  color.  It  lives  in  the  low  hills  and 
brushy  edges  of  the  plains  and  valleys,  and  the  grassy 
and  weedy  parts  of  river-bottoms;  cares  less  for  tim- 
ber, and  keeps  more  in  holes  and  chinks  in  the  rocks, 
than  the  Eastern  "  cotton-tail,"  and  runs  into  them 
oftener  when  started.  It  is  very  abundant,  and  none 
too  easy  to  hit  even  with  a  shot-gun,  running  with  a 
quick,  zigzag  motion,  and  dodging  and  twisting 
about  in  the  brush.  The  best  shooting,  however,  is 
on  moonlight  nights,  when  snap-shooting  at  the  zig- 
zag bit  of  white  that  marks  their  course  is  not  to  be 
despised.  And  still  less  contemptible  is  shooting  at 
them  with  a  22-caliber  rifle.  The  flesh  is  white  and 
is  very   good   eating,   while    the    larger    hare   is   pro- 


THE  ANIMALS.  I  33 

nounced  by  Englishmen  fully  equal  to  the  English 
hare. 

Where  the  slopes  from  the  plain  begin  to  sweep 
upward  into  hills  covered  with  heavier  brush,  a  still 
smaller  hare  appears,  about  three-fourths  the  size 
of  the  one  just  described,  of  a  mouse-blue  color, 
tinged  with  gray,  and  with  less  white  upon  its  tail. 
It  also  is  called  "cotton-tail,"  and  often  mistaken  for 
the  young  of  the  other  kind.  It  is  often  found  far  up 
among  the  rocks  and  chaparral,  where  the  other 
"cotton-tail"  is  seldom  seen,  though  both  are  often 
found  upon  the  same  ground.  It  lives  less  in  holes 
than  the  other,  and  depends  more  upon  dodging  about 
in  the  brush.  Its  flesh  is  very  white  and  delicate,  and 
it  makes  good  sport  for  the  shot-gun,  but  keeps  in 
too  thick  brush  and  dodges  too  much  for  the  rifle. 

The  mode  of  hunting  these  hares  often  adopted  by 
the  Mission  Indians  affords  the  best  sport,  though 
few  white  men  dare  do  the  rough  riding  it  requires. 
Fifteen  or  twenty  men  on  mustang  ponies,  each  armed 
with  a  club  about  the  size  of  a  policeman's  "locust," 
scatter  out  in  the  brush  where  the  hares  abound, 
and  soon  the  whole  line  is  transformed  into  a  medley 
of  whooping  and  yelling  riders  and  dashing  and 
wheeling  horses.  The  cotton-tails,  overtaken  and 
headed  off  at  almost  every  turn,  become  confused;  some 
of  them  squat,  others  run  here  and  there  looking  for 
a  hole.  Whack!  descends  a  club  on  the  back  of  the 
first  one  that  squats,  and  often  before  it  squats,  being 
overtaken  and  hit  in  full  run.  The  rider,  reaching 
from  the  saddle,  picks  up  the  game  and  club  without 


134  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

dismounting,  and  plunges  again  into  the  midst  of  the 
uproar.  The  horses  smash  through  heavy  bushes, 
clatter  among  stones,  and  jump  over  boulders  and 
gullies  at  an  alarming  pace,  yet  are  so  sure  of  foot, 
and  so  quick  to  catch  themselves  if  they  do  stumble, 
that  a  rider  is  rarely  thrown.  Wonderful  skill  in  rid- 
and  club-throwing  is  often  shown  by  these  Indians. 
Even  the  large  hare,  swift  as  he  is,  often  fares  no  bet- 
ter than  the  "cotton-tail,"  especially  if  they  can  drive 
him  from  the  larger  brush  out  upon  the  plain.  Some 
rider  is  quite  apt  to  overtake  him  and  either  hit  or 
turn  him.  If  turned,  he  is  headed  off  and  struck  at, 
whichever  way  he  may  run;  and  if  he  cannot  reach 
heavy  brush  or  rocks,  he  soon  becomes  confused,  and 
after  various  futile  twists  and  turns  falls  under  a  de- 
scending club.  A  party  of  fifteen  will  often  catch  in 
this  way  as  many  as  seventy-five  "cotton-tails"  in 
little  over  an  hour,  some  of  the  best  riders  coming 
away  with  twenty  or  more  strung  over  the  pommel  of 
the  saddle. 


A    GLANCE  AT   THE  BIRDS.  1 35 


CHAPTER   XII. 


A    GLANCE    AT    THE    BIRDS. 


To  the  ornithologist  Southern  California  pres- 
ents a  field  both  extensive  and  little  known.  It  is 
doubtful  if  every  variety  of  bird  here  found  has 
been  even  classified.  It  is  quite  certain  that  little 
more  than  that  has  been  done,  and  that  their  habits, 
notes,  and  points  of  difference  from  their  brethren  of 
the  Atlantic  coast  have  been  quite  neglected.  The 
birds  alone  would  make  an  interesting  book.  But  I 
can  do  no  more  than  glance  at  a  few  of  them,  noting 
a  few  peculiarities  of  some  not  before  mentioned. 

The  majority  of  the  birds  here  vary  either  in  color, 
marking,  notes,  or  habits  from  the  same  birds  as 
found  on  the  Atlantic  coast,  and  many  vary  in  all  of 
these  respects.  The  robin  is  here  of  a  more  ashy  hue 
upon  the  back,  and  of  slightly  paler  breast,  though 
one  might  not  notice  it  at  first.  His  piping  is  feeble 
and  husky,  and  the  joyous  carol  of  spring  is  subdued 
to  a  sort  of  sorrowful  lament.  And  where  do  you 
suppose  it  is  heard  ?  In  the  orange,  almond,  or 
apricot  tree — in  the  door-yard  or  orchard  ?  Not  a  bit 
of  it.  He  spends  little  of  his  time  in  anything  cor- 
responding to  the  old  apple-tree  of  the  Eastern  door- 
yard.  He  may  in  winter  or  late  in  spring  spend  a 
few  days  about  your  house,  but  most  of  his  time  he 


I36  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

will  pass  in  the  hills  among  the  chaparral,  far  away 
from  houses,  or  among  the  sycamores  or  cotton-woods 
along  the  streams  or  low  valleys.  There  he  remains 
unmated  sometimes  even  as  late  as  the  middle  of 
May,  when  the  apricots  are  ripening  and  the  alfileria 
is  yellowing  into  death;  perhaps  quite  wild,  though 
never  shot  at,  and  making  no  sound  but  an  occa- 
sional feeble  and  husky  squeal.  In  a  month  more 
you  shall  find  him  singing  the  song  of  springtime 
and  love;  but  it  will  probably  be  miles  away  from 
all  the  works  of  man,  away  up  in  the  pine  woods  of 
the  big  mountains,  where  the  clouds  tumble  in  long 
cascades  of  snowy  fleece  over  gigantic  ridges. 

The  meadow-lark  is  marked  about  the  same  as  in 
the  East,  but  all  his  notes  are  different,  of  fuller' 
richer  timbre,  though  less  tender.  It  nests  almost  any- 
where, where  there  is  grass;  but  after  the  young  are 
grown  they  often  go  to  the  hills  instead  of  remaining 
on  the  low  grounds  or  meadows.  In  the  autumn 
they  often  gather  into  companies  of  a  hundred  or 
more  and  keep  high  up  along  the  hill-sides  or  table- 
lands, a  thousand  feet  or  more  above  where  they 
were  hatched.  The  turtle-dove  is  very  abundant, 
and  seems  identical  in  all  respects  with  the  dove  of 
the  East,  except  in  the  habits  of  nesting  occasionally 
on  the  ground  sometimes  very  late  in  the  fall.  The 
whip-poor-will  and  night-hawk  are  both  missing, 
and  in  their  place  is  a  solitary  bird  like  a  cross  be- 
tween the  two,  rarely  seen  upon  the  wing,  and  mak- 
ing no  sound,  except  occasionally  a  feeble,  muffled 
mew,  mew,  mew,  when   flying.      An  occasional   chee-a- 


A    GLANCE  AT   THE  BIRDS.  1 37 

woo  comes  from  the  hills  at  night,  which  is  probably 
made  by  this  bird,  but  it  is  quite  difficult  to  prove  it. 
There  are  two  thrushes,  both  with  brown  backs 
and  buff  vests.  One  is  as  large  as  the  robin,  with 
much  larger  tail  and  bill,  the  bill  curved  like  that  of 
the  sickle-billed  curlew;  the  other  is  smaller,  with  a 
straight  bill  and  short  tail.  They  live  mainly  in  the 
brush,  hopping  about  upon  the  ground.  So  seldom 
do  they  sing  that  one  would  suppose  there  was  little 
music  in  them;  and,  indeed,  there  is  but  little  when 
compared  with  the  Eastern  thrush.  For  a  little 
while  after  the  rains  have  started  the  grass  they 
may  mount  a  bush  and  sing;  but  instead  of  the  joy- 
ous overflow  of  love  and  happiness  of  the  thrush 
there  is  too  much  of  the  perfunctory  squeakiness  of 
the  cat-bird.  The  larger  thrush  occasionally  imitates 
quite  well  the  call  of  the  valley  quail;  but  as  it  imi- 
tates nothing  else,  it  is  possible  that  the  imitation  is 
accidental.  The  sweetest  of  all  the  song-birds  is  the 
mocking-bird.  In  size  he  is  about  the  same  as  the 
Virginia  mocking-bird,  a  little  more  trimly  built, 
and  with  similar  colors  but  a  little  differently  ar- 
ranged. The  tone  of  his  voice  is  about  the  same, 
but  his  repertoire  is  much  more  limited.  Indeed,  he 
scarcely  deserves  the  name  of  mocking-bird,  because 
he  mocks  nothing  that  is  found  here.  His  song  con- 
sists of  only  seven  or  eight  changes,  which  are  always 
the  same.  But  he  is  pretty,  graceful,  and  harmless; 
and,  whether  flitting  through  the  garden,  with  long  tail 
and  white-barred  wings  outspread,  or  mounted  on  the 
pyramid  of  dark  green,  gold,  and   snowy  white   that 


138  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

the  orange  makes  in  winter,  he  fills  the  warm  sunlight 
with  his  pure,  sweet  notes,  sounding  an  indefinable 
something  that  sends  back  one's  thoughts  to  the  early- 
days  of  springtime  and  love. 

For  a  few  weeks  in  spring  three  kinds  of  orioles, 
differing  mainly  in  the  shades  and  arrangement  of 
t'he  orange  and  black,  make  the  woods  and  orchards 
tuneful  with  song,  and  bright  with  the  flash  of  their 
finery.  The  markings  of  all  differ  from  those  of  the 
Baltimore  oriole,  and  their  song,  though  a  little 
longer  than  that  of  the  latter,  is  deficient  in  its  rich- 
ness and  fullness  of  tone.  Of  all  the  warblers  the 
linnet  is  the  most  cheerful  and  enlivening.  Almost 
everywhere  one  may  see  his  little  body  of  gray  and 
brown  and  little  crimson  head  and  neck,  and  even 
from  the  vine  that  covers  your  porch  he  often  rolls 
forth  his  tide  of  song.  The  bird  that  most  nearly 
resembles  the  wood-robin  is  silent,  for  he  is  seen  only 
in  the  fall.  The  ground-robin,  or  "  chewink,"  resem- 
bles the  Eastern  bird  in  habits,  though  not  exactly  in 
markings.  But  it  rarely  makes  a  sound;  and  when 
it  does,  it  does  not  say  chewink.  The  cuckoo  or 
"cow-bird,"  cat-bird,  bobolink,  goldfinch,  and  fire- 
bird seem  wanting.  The  "cow-blackbird"  is  also 
missing,  but  the  "crow-blackbird,"  or  large  black- 
bird, takes  its  place  among  the  herds;  not  only  pick- 
ing flies  from  the  legs  of  cattle,  but  sitting  composedly 
on  the  backs  of  sheep  and  swine,  even  while  the  ani- 
mals are  walking. 

The  woodpeckers  are  abundant,  but  most  of  them 
are  like  those  of  the  East.     The  highholder,  or  yellow- 


A    GLANCE  AT    THE  BIRDS.  1 39 

hammer,  however,  is  of  a  deep-orange  shade  beneath, 
makes  no  sounds  but  a  sleepy  squeal  and  a  stupid 
krrrrr,  and  these  but  rarely,  and  spends  most  of  the 
time  upon  the  ground  feeding  upon  ants,  instead  of 
hunting  bugs  and  worms  in  dead  limbs.  He  has 
also  the  singular  trait,  in  common  with  most  Cali- 
fornian  birds,  of  being  very  shy,  though  never  shot 
at.  Another  woodpecker,  about  the  size  of  the  high- 
holder,  and  almost  pure  black,  flying  with  almost  a 
steady  flight  instead  of  dipping,  is  found  here,  but  is 
quite  rare.  Various  little  ones,  with  pepper-and-salt 
color,  or  striped  jackets,  with  and  without  red  top- 
knots, and  full  of  noise,  are  found,  especially  in  the 
timbered  mountains;  but  the  large  black,  red-headed 
woodpecker,  sometimes  called  "  cock-of-the-woods," 
or,  by  some  rustics,  "woodcock,"  is  missing. 

There  are  half  a  dozen  varieties  of  sparrow,  some 
larger,  some  very  much  smaller  than  the  common 
"chippy,"  none  exactly  like  him.  Some  are  quite 
silent,  some  pretty  little  warblers,  but  nearly  all 
are  shy  and  retiring.  Two  kinds  of  wren  are  com- 
mon— one  about  the  size  of  the  Eastern  wren,  but  of 
a  lighter  gray,  the  other  a  wee  little  gray  thing  about 
one  half  his  size.  Both  can  speak  their  little  pieces 
with  all  the  glibness  and  pertness  of  their  Eastern 
cousin.  The  king-bird  is  a  drab-coated  rascal  that 
lives  on  nothing  but  bees,  and  wakes  one  an  hour  be- 
fore dawn  with  a  noise  more  like  the  filing  of  a  saw 
than  the  notes  of  a  bird.  There  are  several  delicate 
little  bug-catchers  that  glide  about  the  limbs  of  trees, 
and  pick  slugs  from  the  under  side  of  leaves  as  deftly 


140  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA, 

as  any  birds;  and  little  fly-catchers  that  are  smaller 
than  those  of  the  East,  but  can  snap  their  bills  quite 
as  energetically.  The  Phoebe  bird  is  of  darker  shade 
than  the  Eastern  one,  but  its  note  is  much  the  same 
as  the  note  of  the  latter.  And  there  are  three  kinds 
of  bats,  of  which  one  kind  is  little  more  than  half  as 
large  as  the  common  bat,  and  much  more  erratic  in 
its  flight.  The  blue-bird  differs  in  all  points  but  form 
and  color  from  that  of  the  East,  being  shy  and  soli- 
tary, and  rarely  uttering  a  sound.  He  is  more  like 
the  indigo-bird,  of  which  there  are  two  kinds — one 
small  and  very  brilliant  in  color,  the  other  larger  and 
less  showy;  but  both  rare,  silent,  and  solitary. 

The  chimney-swallow  and  martin  are  not  found, 
but  there  are  two  varieties  of  mud-building  swallows^ 
with  shiny  blue  coats  and  white  vests,  that  make  jug- 
shaped  nests,  and  a  gay  little  ethereal  thing  that 
makes  its  nest  in  cliffs  of  sand-rock  and  similar  for- 
mations. Starlings,  finches,  and  grossbeaks  are 
found  different  from  any  in  the  East,  and  so  rarely 
seen  even  here  that  it  is  doubtful  if  all  have  been 
classified,  because  a  naturalist  would  have  to  spend 
many  a  year  in  the  different  elevations  and  seasons 
before  he  could  be  sure  that  he  had  seen  all  the  birds. 
The  upland  plover  is  wanting,  and  the  golden  plover 
is  rarely,  if  ever,  seen  inland,  though  his  place  is 
supplied  by  a  fine  little  gray  plover  often  abundant 
in  places  after  the  rains  have  started  the  grass. 

About  the  only  bird  having  no  representative  on 
the  Atlantic  coast  is  the  " chaparral-cock,"  "road- 
runner,"  or  paisano,   as  the  native  Californians    call 


A    GLANCE  AT    THE  BIRDS.  141 

it.  It  looks  much  like  a  cross  between  a  hawk  and  a 
hernshaw;  long-geared,  long-tailed,  swift  of  foot, 
white,  gray,  and  blue,  with  a  bluish  topknot  and 
long  bill.  Though  generally  deemed  unfit  to  eat,  it 
really  is  one  of  the  fattest  and  finest-flavored  birds 
we  have,  in  spite  of  its  diet  of  centipedes,  lizards,  and 
scorpions.  It  is  an  interesting  bird,  easily  tamed,  and 
may  be  made  a  great  pet.  It  is  quite  harmless,  and 
is  rarely  shot,  except  by  foolish  tourists  who  think  it 
the  proper  thing  to  murder  everything  they  see.  The 
common  story  about  its  killing  rattlesnakes  by  sur- 
rounding them  with  lobes  of  prickly-pear,  or  putting 
balls  of  cactus  in  their  coil,  so  that  in  striking  at 
them  they  strike  themselves,  I  have  found,  upon 
most  diligent  inquiry  among  Indians  and  Mexicans, 
to  rest  upon  about  the  same  foundation  as  the 
old  story  about  raccoons  catching  crabs  by  dipping 
their  tails  in  the  water,  and  when  they  got  a  bite 
jerking  them  out  before  the  crabs  could  let  go. 

The  snipe-plover  and  waders  generally  known  as 
"  hay-birds"  are  well  represented  and  are  very  abun- 
dant, with  several  varieties  very  rare,  if  not  entirely 
unknown  on  the  Atlantic  coast.  Nearly  all  the  cranes 
and  herons  are  common,  except  the  great  white  sand- 
hill or  whooping  crane,  the  long  white-plumed  night- 
heron,  and  the  common  green  heron,  which  seem  to 
be  missing.  Among  the  water-fowl  the  wood-duck; 
the  blue-winged  teal  of  the  Mississippi  Valley,  and  the 
black  duck  of  the  Atlantic  coast  are  absent;  but  their 
places  are  supplied  by  birds  extremely  rare,  if  not 
entirely  unknown,  on  the  Atlantic  shores.     There  is  a 


142  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

blue-winged  teal  here,  but  different  from  the  Western 
blue-wing.  In  place  of  the  latter  is  the  cinnamon 
teal,  very  common  in  all  the  little  inland  ponds  and 
streams.  His  whole  body,  from  the  blue  tail-feathers 
to  the  bill,  is  robed  in  rich,  glossy  cinnamon,  beamy  as 
the  bronze  of  a  wild  turkey.  The  wings  are  a  gamy 
gray  with  sky-blue  bands  upon  the  top  which  flash 
brightly  in  the  sun  as  the  bird  springs  from  the 
water.  The  black  brant  {Bermcula  nigricans^  and  not 
the  common  brant,  sometimes  called  "  black  brant" 
byway  of  distinction  from  "white  brant")  is  found 
only  in  the  Bay  of  San  Diego,  and  False  Bay,  three 
miles  above,  skipping  all  the  wild-fowl  resorts  and 
bays  from  there  to  Tomales  Bay,  above  San  Francisco. 
It  is  almost  black  in  front,  with  a  white  collar  around 
the  jet-black  neck,  and  almost  pure  white  behind.  It 
is  very  rapid  in  flight,  being  almost  equal  to  a  mal- 
lard-duck in  activity,  and  is  the  gamiest  by  far  of  all 
American  water-fowl.  It  never  goes  inland,  and  does 
not  even  fly  over  a  narrow  point  of  land  if  it  can  be 
easily  avoided. 

The  wild  pigeon  is  of  the  size  and  shape  of  the 
common  house-pigeon,  with  broad  fan-shaped  tail 
and  wings  that  strike  when  they  fly.  It  is  of  a  soft 
lavender,  brilliantly  glossy  on  the  breast  and  neck, 
with  eyes  set  in  golden  rims,  and  has  a  delicate  little 
white  collar  around  the  neck.  It  is  rarely  found  be- 
low four  thousand  feet,  unless  driven  lower  by  heavy 
snow-storms,  though  it  may  descend  lower  into  the 
deep  canons  to  breed. 

The   condor,  which    is   quite  as   often   called  "vul- 


A    GLANCE  AT    THE   B7KDS.  143 

cure,"  is  generally  seen  only  in  the  high  mountains, 
though  it  used  often  to  be  seen  in  the  lowlands  before 
their  settlement.  In  shape  and  appearance  it  is  much 
like  the  common  buzzard,  but  is  nearly  black.  The 
gray  band  on  the  under  side  of  the  wing  is  on  the 
opposite  side  from  that  of  the  buzzard.  It  is  the 
largest  bird  in  North  America,  "rivaling  in  size  the 
condor  of  the  Andes,"  according  to  Dr.  Coues.  Its 
spread  of  wing  is  as  wide  as  ten  and  a  half  feet,  and 
it  weighs  from  forty  to  eighty  pounds,  according  to 
the  time  of  weighing — before  or  after  dinner.  Like 
the  condor  of  the  Andes,  it  sometimes  gorges  itself 
to  such  an  extent  that  it  can  hardly  fly;  and  in  days 
gone  by,  when  not  too  wild  to  approach  near  enough, 
it  has  been  lassoed  by  a  sudden  dash  with  a  good 
horse.  A  friend  who  had  a  tame  one  that  had  been 
caught  in  this  way  told  me  it  averaged  a  sheep  a  day. 
It  is  quite  certain,  however,  that  they  can  go  many 
days  without  anything  to  eat.  The  condor  is  the 
most  graceful  sailer  of  all  American  birds;  far  more 
so  than  even  the  frigate-bird.  In  the  high  thin  air 
above  the  highest  mountains,  it  spends  hours  with 
outstretched  wings  without  making  the  slightest  mo- 
tion that  can  be  detected,  even  by  the  strongest  glass, 
and  it  probably  spends  the  whole  day  without  resting 
upon  the  earth  or  flapping  its  wings  in  the  sky. 


144  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    INSECTS    AND    REPTILES. 

Southern  California  is  the  land  of  insects  almost 
as  unique  as  are  its  flowers.  Many  kinds  are  to  be 
found  in  any  year,  while  others  appear — in  any  num- 
bers— only  in  years  of  sufficient  rainfall  to  make  the 
growth  of  vegetation  luxuriant. 

Ants  abound  from  sea-coast  to  mouiitain-top;  from 
the  tiniest  little  red  ant  that  ever  penetrated  the  fit- 
tings of  a  sugar-bowl  to  a  black  ant  in  the  mountains 
nearly  as  large  as  a  honey-bee.  Between  black  ants, 
red  ants,  flying  ants,  and  tree  ants,  there  are  some 
twenty-five  or  thirty  varieties,  nearly  all  different  from 
those  of  the  Eastern  States.  Occasionally  a  tree  is  so 
full  of  them  that  if  a  mother  grizzly  bereft  of  her 
cubs  were  raging  in  one's  immediate  rear  it  would  be 
a  serious  question  whether  to  climb  the  tree  or  the 
bear;  but  the  great  majority  of  trees  are  free  of  them. 
They  are  easily  kept  out  of  houses,  and  trouble  no  one 
but  the  careless  camper  who  does  not  look  out  for 
them. 

The  wild  bee  was  unknown  here  before  the  Amer- 
icans introduced  the  common  bee.  Since  then,  the 
wild  one  has  become  abundant  from  escaping  swarms. 
There  are  at  least  a  dozen  kinds  of  wasps,  from  a  deli- 


THE  INSECTS  AND  REPTILES.  1 45 

cate  liftle  blue  one,  not  half  the  size  of  the  common 
wasp,  up  to  the  large  tarantula  wasp,  and  running 
through  all  shades  of  color  from  the  golden-banded 
uniform  of  the  "  yellow-jacket"  to  red,  gray,  steel- 
blue,  and  black.  The  tarantula-wasp  is  nearly  two 
inches  long,  with  body  of  deep  brilliant  blue  and  wings 
of  deep  orange,  and  it  shines  like  a  flake  of  burnished 
metal  as  it  drifts  about  in  the  sunshine.  It  has  a  fear- 
ful sting,  but,  unless  the  wound  be  pinched,  hurts 
nothing  but  the  tarantula,  which  it  quickly  kills.  The 
humble-bee  is  of  two  kinds;  one  very  small  and  the 
other  very  large,  both  of  almost  a  pure  black,  and 
both  very  rare.  The  large  one  lives  almost  entirely 
in  rotten  wood,  and  hums  like  a  deep-bass  reed.  A 
small,  stubby  little  thing,  clad  in  gray  fuzz,  with  a  bill 
nearly  as  long  as  its  body,  and  looking  more  like  a 
cross  between  a  bat  and  a  humming-bird,  hovers 
around  the  flowers  with  a  sound  pitched  away  up- 
stairs on  the  scale,  and,  like  a  humming-bird,  sips  his 
honey  on  the  wing  without  alighting.  Another  nearly 
as  large  as  a  humming-bird  and  quite  as  noisy  of 
wing,  appears  on  warm  evenings  in  spring,  buzzes 
around  the  flowers,  and  takes  the  honey  after  the 
same  manner.  But  this  latter  has  no  sting,  and 
neither  one  belongs  to  the  bee  family. 

The  tarantula  is  found  only  in  a  few  places,  and 
only  in  the  lowlands.  There  are  two  kinds,  black  and 
brown.  The  largest  are  nearly  two  and  one-half  inches 
long  by  one  and  one-half  wide,  with  long,  thick  curved 
legs,  and  body  low  hung  so  that  the  curved  part  of 
the  legs  is  above  the  back.  It  looks  like  an  immense 
1 


146  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

spider.  The  body  is  covered  with  short  hair,  and  the 
whole  forms  about  the  most  repulsive-looking  thing 
imaginable.  They  make  nests  in  the  ground  in  a 
perpendicular  hole  several  inches  deep,  lined  with  soft 
white  stuff  of  silky  appearance  and  covered  by  a 
trap-door  with  a  perfect  hinge.  They  have  two  black 
curved  tusks  in  the  upper  jaw,  long  and  sharp,  which 
they  can  set  through  a  green  twig  the  size  of  a  lead 
pencil.  The  bite  of  these  is  said  to  be  as  bad  as  that 
of  the  rattlesnake,  though  I  have  never  heard  of  any 
one  being  bitten  by  them.  They  are  slow  and  slug- 
gish in  their  motions,  and  generally,  if  not  always, 
grasp  a  thing  with  their  feet  before  biting  it.  They 
fall  easy  victims  to  the  large  wasp,  which  stings  them 
in  the  back. 

The  pinacate,  a  large  black,  long-geared  bug,  is  abun- 
dant almost  everywhere.  Then  there  are  beetles  of 
gray  and  brown  and  yellow,  beetles  big,  beetles  little, 
beetles  infinitesimal,  beetles  with  bands,  and  beetles 
with  stripes,  and  beetles  sharded  with  gold  and  green, 
purple,  blue,  and  crimson.  And  there  are  delicate  little 
bugs  no  bigger  than  a  pin's  head,  of  the  brightest  car- 
mine, shaped  like  beetles  but  soft  and  wingless,  and 
others  soft  and  shiny  as  sky-blue  silk. 

Dragon-flies  of  sky-blue,  steel-blue,  red,  and  other 
colors,  double-winged  and  single-winged,  shine  in  the 
sunlight;  and  so  do  butterflies  of  all  colors  and  com- 
binations of  color,  and  of  all  sizes  from  one  about  as 
big  as  the  smaller  bat  to  some  scarcely  bigger  than  a 
mosquito.  The  millers  are  almost  equally  abundant 
and  varied.      Grasshoppers    are    rare  except   on   the 


THE  INSECTS  AND  REPTILES.  1 47 

larger  plains,  where  they  sometimes  become  a  burden. 
One  kind  is  nearly  as  long  as  the  small  sparrow,  and 
can  fly  many  miles,  but  is  not  the  locust  of  the  eastern 
slope  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  I  have  noticed  but 
one  locust  here,  and  that  is  small  and  not  at  all  abun- 
dant; the  seventeen-year  locust  being  unknown. 

Of  water-bugs  there  is  a  very  varied  assortment. 
There  are  some  about  an  inch  long  that  look  almost 
exactly  like  little  turtles.  They  carry  their  eggs  upon 
the  shell  of  their  back,  and  it  is  often  covered  with 
them  thickly  massed  together.  It  is  impossible  to 
understand  how  the  same  bug  that  bears  them  could 
have  laid  them;  as  they  are  deposited  in  orderly  ar- 
rangement. Besides  these  are  numerous  small  varie- 
ties, some  like  the  black  circling  bugs  often  seen  East, 
and  others  that  seem  peculiar  to  this  section. 

The  insects  annoying  to  man  are  not  as  abundant 
as  in  the  East.  The  cockroach  and  bed-bug  are  almost 
unknown  outside  of  the  cities;  though  the  bed-bug  is 
found  in  the  mountains  in  houses  built  of  the  moun- 
tain-pine, and  is  found  beneath  the  bark  of  the  pine- 
trees.  I  have  never  cared  to  test  them,  but  am  in- 
formed that  they  are  the  very  same  as  those  of  the 
Eastern  hotel.  A  similar  bug  is  found  as  a  parasite 
upon  the  mud-swallow  that  builds  a  jug-shaped  nest. 
It  is  said  to  enter  houses;  but  though  I  have  lived 
where  hundreds  of  swallows  built  under  the  eaves,  I 
never  have  seen  any.  The  bed-bug  is  certainly  ex- 
tremely rare  in  all  the  lowlands:  many  of  the  native 
Californians  and  old  residents  have  never  seen  one. 
This   is   all  the  more  strange  because  they  are  found 


148  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

in  parts  of  the  North  and  in  Oregon  in  abundance. 
It  is  certain  that  they  have  often  been  brought  into 
the  city  of  San  Diego  from  the  high  mountains  fifty 
miles  east,  but  none  can  be  found  in  San  Diego.  The 
common  attempt  to  explain  this  by  the  use  of  redwood 
for  building  is  a  failure,  because  they  do  not  increase 
in  any  houses  in  the  lowlands,  and  because  they  do 
live  in  redwood  in  the  North.  There  are  at  least  ten 
kinds  of  mosquitoes,  but  many  varieties  do  not  bite  at 
all.  Others  bite  most  savagely,  and  are  even  quicker 
than  flies  to  dodge  a  well-aimed  and  spiteful  slap. 
All  kinds  are  very  rare  except  where  produced  by  ex- 
cessive shrubbery  and  water-tanks  or  lagoons.  In 
most  places  they  are  entirely  unknown,  and  one  may 
travel  for  days  in  summer  without  seeing  a  mosquito- 
net  anywhere.  The  blue-bottle  fly  is  a  great  nuisance; 
but  horse-flies  are  very  rare  except  for  about  four 
weeks  in  a  spring  of  luxuriant  vegetation.  Houseflies 
are  as  bad  here  as  anywhere;  but,  with  the  exception 
of  a  little  midge  often  found  along  river-bottoms, 
there  is  nothing  of  the  gnat  or  biting-fly  variety  to 
trouble  one  in  hunting;  except  in  the  higher  moun- 
tains, where  a  large  biting-fly  is  sometimes  found, 
though  it  does  not  compare  with  the  Eastern  black  fly 
as  a  pest. 

The  flea  is  the  only  insect  that  is  really  a  pest.  The 
variety  found  upon  hares  and  rabbits  does  not  bite 
persons,  though  looking  precisely  like  the  other. 
The  flea  found  on  dogs  and  cats,  and  around  ill-kept 
houses,  or  old  hog-pens  or  chicken-houses,  is  a  savage 
wretch  that  never  wearies  of  anything  except  the  old 


THE  INSECTS  AND  RET  TILES.  1 49 

place.  He  takes  a  new  spot  every  second,  and  keeps 
on,  until  stopped  by  Persian  powder,  or  being  caught. 
Fleas  are,  however,  found  only  where  people  or  ani- 
mals live  or  have  lately  lived,  and  are  not  found  at 
two  hundred  yards  from  there.  Most  people  they  do 
not  bite,  being  select  in  their  tastes.  They  nearly  all 
disappear  in  winter.  The  wood-tick  is  found  in  the 
brush,  but  is  different  from  the  Eastern  tick,  and 
hardly  ever  bites  a  person.  Two  kinds  of  scorpions 
are  found,  but  they  are  not  at  all  abundant.  The 
sting  is  said  to  be  little  worse  than  that  of  a  hornet, 
though  I  have  never  known  any  one  stung  by  them. 
Two  or  three  kinds  of  centipedes  are  also  found — 
hideous-looking  things  with  a  hundred  legs  on  each 
side,  each  leg  terminating  in  a  hard,  sharp  point  like 
the  tail  of  a  scorpion.  Some  of  them  are  six  or  eight 
inches  long.  Some  are  nearly  white,  others  a  green- 
ish lead  color.  The  touch  of  their  feet  upon  bare 
flesh  is  said  to  be  incurably  poisonous.  It  is  easy  to 
imagine  that  it  may  be;  but  I  have  never  been  able 
to  get  any  reliable  evidence  of  it,  though  making 
many  inquiries.  They  are  not  at  all  abundant,  and  I 
have  been  unable  to  find  any  positive  case  of  any  one 
being  injured  by  them,  and  it  is  possible  that  there  is 
some  imagination  in  it. 

The  reptiles  are  well  represented,  though  none  of 
them  can  be  considered  troublesome.  Lizards  of  all 
sizes  from  eight  or  ten  inches  in  length  downward 
are  very  abundant.  Some  of  them  are  ashy  gray, 
some  brown  or  nearly  black,  others  green,  others  a 
bright  blue  with   metallic  luster.     They  hang  on   the 


150  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

side  of  big  rocks  and  look  at  you,  or  run  rustling 
into  the  chinks  if  you  come  too  close,  but  are  all  in- 
nocent and  harmless,  and  rarely  enter  a  house.  The 
tree-toad  is  not  found  here.  The  common  toad  is 
very  rare,  but  one  much  resembling  it  is  more  of  a 
frog,  breeding  in  the  water,  though  often  going  far 
away  from  it.  The  large  bull-frog  is  rarely  seen,  but 
small  ones  of  the  gray  or  brown  varieties  are  abundant 
after  the  rains  come.  The  horned  toad  (or  more 
properly  the  horned  lizard)  is  a  curious  and  harmless 
little  thing.  It  is  covered  on  top  with  quite  a  hard 
coat  of  mail,  and  is  a  rapid  runner. 

All  snakes  hibernate  here  even  in  the  warmest 
belts,  where  mild  hoar-frost  is  almost  unknown. 
They  remain  in  the  ground  nearly  five  months. 
When  the  winter  has  been  very  dry  and  vegetation  is 
short,  they  are  not  abundant  in  the  spring,  and  it  is 
evident  that  many  do  not  come  out  at  all.  A  short, 
thick,  lead-colored  snake,  about  eighteen  inches  long 
and  very  rare,  is  said  to  be  poisonous,  but  I  know  of 
no  case  of  any  person  being  bitten  by  one.  It  bites 
most  savagely  at  a  stick,  but  is  so  very  rare  that  it 
can  hardly  be  considered  dangerous,  if  it  is  so  at  all. 
Besides  this  one,  the  only  poisonous  snake  is  the  rat- 
tlesnake. Of  these  there  are  two  kinds.  One  is  of  dark 
slate-color,  and  is  rarely  over  three  feet  long.  The 
other  is  a  reddish-brown  that  reaches  four  and  a  half 
feet  in  length,  and  is  often  as  thick  as  a  man's  arm, 
and  well  calculated  to  make  one  jump  when  suddenly 
met  in  the  path.  Fortunately  both  kinds  are  very 
sluggish,  the  red  one  even  more  so  than  the  other. 


THE   INSECTS  AND  REPTILES.  I  5  I 

At  least  a  dozen  times  I  have  either  been  about  to 
step  directly  on  one,  or  have  stepped  over  it,  or  else 
have  set  my  foot  directly  beside  it.  In  no  case  have 
I  been  struck  at  by  them,  though  I  have  made  them 
strike  very  savagely  at  a  stick.  When  they  do  strike 
they  are  as  poisonous  as  any  snake,  though  it  is  very 
seldom  that  any  one  is  hurt  by  them.  They  are  not 
abundant,  and  one  may  hunt  for  weeks  without 
seeing  one.  Hunters  take  no  precautions  against 
them,  and  children  run  bare  -  legged  everywhere 
through  the  bush  without  thinking  of  them.  Judg- 
ing of  the  danger  by  the  proportion  of  people  in- 
jured— which  seems  the  only  rational  method — it 
amounts  to  little.  The  whole  number  of  persons  in 
the  whole  southern  half  of  the  State  (where  thou- 
sands sleep  all  summer  on  the  open  ground)  injured 
by  snakes  and  poisonous  reptiles,  animals,  etc.,  in 
the  last  ten  years  is  not  equal  to  the  number  killed 
by  lightning  alone  in  one  year  in  one  county  in  many 
Eastern  States,  to  say  nothing  of  cyclones,  mad  dogs, 
etc.  The  Californian  would  gladly  take  twenty  times 
his  present  share  of  snakes,  scorpions,  tarantulas, 
centipedes,  and  earthquakes  rather  than  give  up  his 
present  immunity  from  wind-storms,  hydrophobia, 
and  lightning.  I  spend  five  times  as  much  time 
in  reptile  resorts  as  the  majority  of  residents  do, 
and  see  about  ten  rattlesnakes  a  year — a  very  low 
average  for  a  snake  country.  In  ten  years  I  have 
not  seen  over  twenty  centipedes  and  scorpions.  In 
over  two  years,  in  the  aggregate,  of  camping  out, 
always    sleeping  on  the    ground    and    nearly    always 


152  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

without  a  tent,  I  have  never  had  a  snake  in  camp  ; 
have  never  had  fleas,  mosquitoes,  ants,  or  animals 
of  any  sort  to  trouble  me.  I  never  had  a  centi- 
pede in  camp,  and  but  one  tarantula.  It  may,  how- 
ever, be  proper  to  remark  that  that  one  was  in  my 
blanket.  During  the  same  time  I  have  had  but  two 
visits  from  scorpions.  It  may  be  proper,  further,  to 
remark  that  one  of  these  was  in  my  bed  and  the 
other  was  getting  there  as  fast  as  his  peculiar  mode 
of  locomotion  would  permit. 

The  real  facts  about  rattlesnakes,  and  the  remedy 
for  their  bites,  are  very  important  for  the  hunter  and 
tourist  to  understand.  And  there  is  scarcely  any  sub- 
ject about  which  more  nonsense  is  afloat.  Two  points 
generally  accepted  as  sound  are  utterly  false  :  First, 
that  the  rattlesnake  always  gives  warning  before 
striking.  It  generally  does,  but  the  exceptions  are  so 
numerous  as  to  make  the  rule  worthless  to  depend 
upon.  It  is  well  never  to  put  your  hand  down  into 
grass  or  brush,  or  among  rocks  or  into  a  hole,  without 
examination,  and  to  be  cautious  when  you  go  to  a 
spring  to  drink.  Second,  that  they  cannot  strike  un- 
less coiled.  This  is  an  absurd  mistake.  The  snake 
does  generally  strike  from  coil  ;  but  can  not  only  strike 
for  nearly  half  its  length  when  uncoiled,  but  can  swing 
around  in  a  semicircle  and  strike  too  quickly  for  one 
to  dodge.  In  fact,  its  stroke  is  always  too  quick  to 
dodge  if  one  is  within  reach  of  it.  They  are  danger- 
ous even  with  the  back  broken,  and  can  strike  quite  a 
distance  when  apparently  dead.  He  who  plays  with 
a  live  one  to  see  it  strike  should  have,  for  absolute 


THE  INSECTS  AND  REPTILES.  I  53 

safety,  a  stick  double  the  length  of  the  snake,  espe- 
cially if  below  the  snake  on  a  hill-side. 

There  are  numberless  popular  nostrums  for  snake- 
bite, each  with  its  train  of  marvelous  cures.  The 
only  effect  of  these  is  to  mislead  persons  upon  a  vi- 
tally important  point.  There  is  absolutely  nothing 
that  can  be  given  internally  that  will  neutralize  the 
poison  ;  nor  will  any  ordinary  acids,  alkalies,  or  other 
things  that  can  be  quickly  obtained  have  any  effect 
upon  the  wound.  Powerful  corrosive  acids  and  per- 
haps caustic  potash  might,  like  the  red-hot  iron,  de- 
stroy the  poison  if  brought  into  contact  with  the 
whole  of  it;  but  in  the  puncture  made  by  the  snake's 
tooth  they  cannot  reach  it  quickly  enough.  The  se- 
cret of  the  alleged  cures  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the 
world.  A  dog  is  bitten  and  dies  in  an  hour.  An- 
other is  bitten,  and,  after  a  few  days'  sickness  and 
swelled  leg,  perhaps  gets  well.  Nothing  was  done 
with  either  dog.  Had  the  second  dog  had  tobacco,  or 
gunpowder,  or  a  piece  of  the  snake,  or  a  split  chick- 
en, tied  on  the  wound,  or  any  drug  applied,  or  been 
dosed  with  whiskey,  or  blanketed  with  mud,  etc.,  etc., 
his  recovery  would  have  been  attributed  to  the  rem- 
edy. The  sole  thing  that  saved  him  was  the  fact  that 
he  did  not  receive  enough  of  the  poison,  or  else  re- 
ceived it  where  the  circulation  was  so  feeble  and  slug- 
gish that  his  vitality  could  overcome  it  as  fast  as  it 
could  spread  toward  the  heart.  A  bee-sting  that 
may  kill  a  mouse  has  little  effect  upon  a  man  ;  and 
an  elephant  might  stand  a  snake-bite  that  would 
kill  the  strongest  man.  The  vitality  will  overcome 
7* 


154  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

it  in  time  if  the  poison  is  not   introduced   too    rap- 
idly. 

The  poison  does  not,  as  is  commonly  supposed,  is- 
sue from  the  point  of  a  rattlesnake's  tooth.  The 
point  is  solid,  and  the  poison-duct  issues  from  the 
upper  side  some  distance  from  the  point.  The  skin 
may  be  punctured  so  as  to  draw  blood,  without  the 
poison-duct  touching  it.  Suppose  now  a  person  is 
struck  through  clothing  or  leather,  or  struck  where 
the  skin  lies  close  against  the  bone  and  no  veins  of 
any  size  are  touched.  In  the  first  case  the  poison- 
duct  may  not  reach  the  skin  at  all,  or  the  tooth  may 
be  withdrawn  before  any  blood  can  issue  and  come  in 
contact  with  the  part  of  the  tooth  outside  of  the  skin. 
In  the  second  case  the  poison-duct  may  reach  the 
skin  and  even  pass  into  it  a  little,  but  not  below  it, 
and  the  poison  reaches  nothing  but  the  small  veins 
of  the  skin.  In  the  first  case  there  may  be  some  swell- 
ing, but  the  patient  may  recover  without  any  reme- 
dies at  all.  In  the  second  case  the  poisoning,  light 
as  it  is,  may  still  be  severe,  and  the  patient's  vitality 
may  need  all  the  bracing  that  can  be  given  by 
alcohol,  ammonia,  beef-tea,  etc.  If  of  good  constitu- 
tion and  properly  treated,  in  this  way  he  may  re- 
cover. But  if  struck  deeply  in  a  large  vein,  or  even 
in  a  very  medium-sized  vein,  there  is  no  power  on 
earth,  except  instant  amputation  or  possibly  burning 
with  a  red-hot  iron,  that  can  save  one.  Whiskey,  am- 
monia, and  such  things  have  no  effect  whatever  upon 
the  poison  itself,  but  act  only  as  stimulants  to  keep 
up  the  action  of  the  heart,  and  enable  it  to  overcome 


THE  INSECTS  AND  REPTILES.  155 

the  sedative  effect  of  the  poison.  When  given  in  too 
large  doses,  whiskey  may  become  a  sedative,  and  thus 
aid  the  very  object  it  is  designed  to  prevent.  If  the 
bitten  part  can  be  blown  off  with  the  gun,  it  is  better 
to  do  so  at  once,  and  place  confidence  in  remedies 
afterward  ;  for,  under  any  circumstances,  a  bite  is  a 
most  serious  thing.  The  twisted  bandage  above,  and 
sucking  the  wound,  will  help  in  case  of  a  light  wound, 
but  will  fail  with  a  full  injection  of  the  poison  into  a 
vein  of  any  size. 

There  are  many  other  snakes  found  here,  some  of 
them  very  alarming  to  look  at,  but  all  perfectly  harm- 
less. The  "red  racer"  is  a  long,  lithe  snake  of  bright- 
red  color,  with  a  black  head,  and  of  wonderful  speed. 
Then  there  are  snakes  with  colors  of  metallic  luster, 
and  others  of  dull  dark  brown  or  dark  gray.  There 
are  long  striped  snakes  like  the  garter-snake,  and 
long  spotted  ones,  and  little  ones  of  a  shiny  blue  or 
green,  I  know  not  how  many  varieties.  All  these  are 
useful  as  destroyers  of  gophers,  young  ground-squir- 
rels, mice,  etc.,  and  are  rarely  killed  by  any  one. 


156  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

RURAL    LIFE. 

City  life,  whether  high  or  low,  is  about  the  same  in 
Southern  California  as  elsewhere.  But  country  life 
is  quite  different  from  anything  that  most  Eastern 
readers  are  accustomed  to  see  or  read  about.  Within 
thirty  years  it  has  had  four  different  phases,  and, 
though  they  are  rapidly  changing,  all  may  still  be 
seen. 

The  old  Spanish  residents  depended  entirely  upon 
stock-raising.  They  used  so  little  money  that  the 
sale  of  hides  and  tallow  gave  them  all  they  needed 
up  to  the  coming  of  the  Americans  in  1849.  Some 
raised  a  little  grain,  generally  by  irrigation,  or  on 
spots  of  wet  ground,  which  was  afterwards  trampled 
out  by  horses  and  winnowed  by  tossing  it  up  in  the 
breeze.  But  these  crops  were  very  trifling,  and  on 
account  of  the  unreliable  nature  of  the  winter  rains 
the  land  was  generally  deemed  unfit  for  anything  but 
a  stock-range.  In  addition  to  this  idea  came  the  de- 
mand for  cattle,  caused  by  the  coming  of  the  hungry 
Argonauts;  and  as  it  cost  almost  nothing  to  drive 
them  north  over  plains  covered  with  rich  grass,  that 
had  nothing  but  the  elk  and  the  antelope  to  support, 
cattle-raising  became  so  profitable  in  the  South  that 
it  was  many  years    before   even    the  Americans  at- 


RURAL   LIFE.  157 

tempted  anything  like  farming.  The  first  American 
settlers  lived  much  as  the  Spanish  did.  Their  herds 
ran  at  large  over  a  thousand  hills  and  dales,  and 
their  only  work  was  to  ride  about  and  look  after 
them.  The  new-comer's  table,  like  that  of  his  pred- 
ecessor, was  laden  with  meat,  beans,  peppers,  and 
wheaten  cakes,  with  coffee,  tea,  and  chocolate;  but 
milk,  butter,  vegetables,  fruits,  etc.,  were  almost  un- 
known luxuries.  To  have  milk  would  require  a 
pasture  fence;  or  else  a  cow  had  to  be  picketed  out 
and  attended  to;  or  one  had  to  be  lassoed  or  driven 
into  the  corral  every  day.  During  milking  her  tail 
and  hind  legs  always  had  to  be  lashed  together, 
for  the  old  Spanish  long-horned  cow  was  constitu- 
tionally opposed  to  being  milked  in  any  other  way. 
There  was  something  touchingly  human  in  her  vig- 
orous demand  for  this  ceremony,  and  in  her  resig- 
nation when  it  was  duly  performed.  She  had  most 
violent  objections  to  being  touched  for  any  other  pur- 
pose than  the  tying.  To  that  she  submitted  with  the 
purest  serenity,  and  then  was  willing  to  be  milked  by 
a  child.  But  all  this  was  such  a  nuisance  that  butter 
and  cream,  instead  of  lubricating  the  machinery  of 
life,  materially  increased  the  friction.  The  fencing 
and  protection  of  the  garden  against  the  numerous 
enemies  that  concentrated  their  forces  upon  such  iso- 
lated spots  during  the  long  summer,  when  everything 
from  a  cow  to  a  cabbage-bug  is  crazy  for  something- 
green,  made  it  much  easier  to  go  without  vegetables 
than  to  raise  them.  For  similar  reasons  it  was  more 
convenient  to  dispense  with  chickens,  hogs,  and  other 


158  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

smaller  matters  than  to  take  the  trouble  necessary  to 
raise  and  keep  them.  Hence  the  ranch-house  of 
thirty  years  ago  was  often  a  solitary  building  on  a 
bare-looking  plain.  Its  whitewashed  walls  shone  afar 
through  the  waving  heat,  but  around  it  was  often  no 
sign  of  an  orchard,  garden,  or  anything  green  except 
the  little  grass  around  the  wet  spot  formed  by  the 
spring.  Often  there  was  no  barn  or  any  kind  of  out- 
building, some  room  in  the  house  or  the  spacious 
porch  being  used  to  shelter  the  ranch  tools  and  ma- 
chinery, which  consisted  only  of  saddles  and  bridles, 
lariats,  branding-irons,  and  spurs;  while  all  the  ani- 
mals ran  at  large  except  one  or  two  horses  picketed 
out,  which  were  used  to  catch  or  drive  up  others. 
The  corral,  a  little  yard  into  which  stock  is  often 
driven  when  it  is  necessary  to  catch  some  of  it,  and 
the  house,  formed  about  all  that  was  to  be  seen;  and 
the  whole,  at  a  distance,  often  looked  like  a  rock  or 
two  on  a  shimmering  desert. 

Yet  there  was  comfort  there  as  well  as  profit.  The 
heavy  walls  of  adobe,  or  sun-dried  brick,  made  warm 
rooms  in  winter  nights  and  cool  ones  in  summer  days, 
with  much  more  space  than  is  found  in  the  modern 
house  of  the  American,  who  is  above  living  in  mud — 
unless  baked,  in  which  case  it  does  not  hurt  his  pride 
— and  had  the  advantage  of  being  fire-proof.  Ex- 
penses for  taxes,  clothes,  and  luxuries  amounted  to 
little;  and  in  spite  of  the  owner's  love  of  monte  or 
poker,  in  spite  of  the  losses  of  bad  seasons,  these 
ranchmen  of  thirty  years  ago,  both  Spanish  and 
American,  could  probably  show  more  solid  coin  made 


RURAL    LIFE.  I  59 

out  of  the  ranch,  with  less  expense,  than  any  other 
ranchmen  in  the  world. 

Suddenly  it  was  discovered  in  the  North  that 
wheat  would  grow  in  California  without  irrigation  or 
without  being  sown  in  a  swamp,  and  this,  too,  in  face 
of  the  unanimous  opinion  among  the  gold-hunters 
that  California  was  of  "no  use  for  farming."  It  was 
some  time  before  this  was  fully  believed,  and  even 
then  it  was  only  admitted  that  it  might  be  done  in 
the  North,  for  the  South  was  certainly  of  no  use  ex- 
cept for  stock.  Gradually  the  experiment  was  ex- 
tended farther  south  until  it  was  found  that  even  at 
the  Southern  line  stupendous  crops  of  wheat  could  be 
grown,  even  on  the  barren-looking  table-lands,  with 
a  rainfall  considerably  less  than  was  required  for  a 
good  crop  in  the  North,  and  consequently  very  much 
less  than  would  be  necessary  in  any  State  east  of  the 
Sierra  Nevada.  This  turned  the  heads  of  many  who 
immediately  thought  it  was  the  greatest  wheat  region 
in  the  world.  Wheat-farming  began,  and  laws  were 
passed  which  virtually  destroyed  the  free  range  that 
cattle  and  horses  had  hitherto  enjoyed. 

Meanwhile,  attracted  by  the  success  of  cattle-rais- 
ing, the  "sheepman"  arrived.  Many  sheepmen  were 
mere  wanderers,  having  no  fixed  home,  and  scarcely 
any  property  but  a  wagon  and  camping-outfit  and  a 
large  band  of  two  or  three  thousand  sheep,  or  even 
more,  which  they  drove  from  place  to  place,  with  a 
decided  preference  for  doing  all  their  tarrying,  delay- 
ing, shearing,  etc.,  on  private  property  instead  of  on 
public  land.      Some  had   fixed  homes.     And  such  a 


160  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

home !  The  epitome  of  all  that  is  nasty,  dreary, 
lonely,  and  desolate  was,  with  a  few  rare  exceptions, 
the  Southern  California  sheep-ranch.  The  heavy 
bands  of  sheep  fouled  the  clear  springs  of  water,  and, 
driven  over  the  ground  when  wet,  trampled  it  hard, 
and  cropped  off  and  stamped  out  the  beautiful  and 
nutritious  alfileria  and  burr-clover  before  they  could 
seed,  leaving  rank  weeds  to  spring  up  in  their  place. 
For  two  or  three  hundred  yards  around  the  ranch- 
house  the  ground  was  generally  bare  of  everything 
but  weeds;  and  even  the  birds  deserted  it,  except 
blackbirds — the  only  animal  here  that  does  not  de- 
test sheep — and  buzzards,  ravens,  and  crows,  that  sat 
around  on  the  corral  fence  waiting  for  another  sheep 
to  die.  The  number  of  times  such  an  owner  could, 
upon  some  pretext  or  another,  drive  his  band  of  sheep 
across  a  neighbor's  land,  in  years  when  feed  was 
short,  without  being  shot  at,  forms  the  most  remarka- 
ble chapter  in  the  whole  history  of  human  patience. 

About  this  time  it  was  discovered  that  the  wild 
flowers  of  California,  and  especially  those  of  the 
South,  produced  the  finest  and  clearest  honey  in  the 
world,  with  the  remarkable  feature  of  never  causing 
colic,  and  it  was  but  a  short  time  before  the  "bee- 
ranch"  was  an  established  institution.  The  bee-keeper 
generally  took  a  small  piece  of  government  land  in 
some  little  valley  surrounded  by  flowery  hills,  and  lived 
on  rabbits  and  honey  in  a  shanty  of  rough  boards, 
which  was  not  half  as  comfortable  as  the  adobe  of  the 
Indian,  though  costing  twice  or  thrice  as  much.  But 
he  had  an  apiary  of  from  one  to  six  hundred  hives  of 


RURAL    LIFE.  l6l 

bees.  The  honey  crops  for  the  first  four  or  five  years 
were  beyond  all  conception  of  Eastern  bee-keepers; 
and  as  honey  bore  a  good  price,  immense  profits  were 
made  upon  a  trifling  outlay.  Some  idea  of  this  may 
be  gained  from  the  shipment  for  1874  from  San  Diego 
County,  then  the  most  unsettled  and  unknown  of  all 
the  Southern  counties,  which  amounted  to  two  mill- 
ion and  seventy-five  thousand  pounds,  while  much 
was  left  in  the  hives  and  made  during  the  summer  by 
the  bees  after  shipping-time.  Some  of  the  work  of 
skilled  apiarists  in  very  favorable  seasons  is  quite  in- 
credible, but  is  as  well  attested  as  anything  relating 
to  California — such  as  starting  in  January  with  one 
hundred  stands  of  bees,  increasing  them  by  swarm- 
ing to  four  hundred,  and  shipping  by  the  first  of  July 
forty  thousand  pounds  of  the  finest  and  whitest  comb 
honey,  an  average  of  one  hundred  pounds  to  each 
hive  as  increased.     This  ratio  has  been  often  equaled. 

Wool,  too,  bore  a  good  price,  and  the  clip  was  heavy 
with  grease  and  dust;  while  crops  of  wheat  that  ex- 
celled anything  that  Minnesota  or  Dakota  ever  pro- 
duced were  not  uncommon.  The  result  of  all  such 
success,  which,  for  various  reasons,  was  largely  tem- 
porary, had  a  baneful  influence  upon  all  sorts  of  Cali- 
fornian  farming;  and  its  influence,  though  gradually 
dying  out,  may  still  be  everywhere  seen.  Nine  tenths 
of  successful  farming  the  world  over  is  simply  turn- 
ing one's  own  labor  and  that  of  his  family  into  food 
and  clothes,  making  perhaps  enough  more  to  pay 
taxes,  go  to  an  occasional  "show,"  buy  tobacco  and 
a  few  cheap  "  notions ;"  all  the  gain,   if  any,  outside 


1 62  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

of  this  being  in  the  increase  in  value  of  the  land. 
But  under  the  influences  mentioned  above,  farming,  or 
"ranching,"  as  it  is  here  called,  was  conducted  not  to 
raise  one's  food,  but  to  make  money.  Instead  of  be- 
ing a  mixed  industry,  with  a  little  of  this  and  a  little 
of  that,  so  that  if  one  foot  slips  another  holds,  it  be- 
came a  specialty.  The  labor,  money,  and  anxiety  of 
the  whole  year  were  staked  upon  the  success  of  some 
one  thing,  such  as  wool,  wheat,  honey,  oranges,  or 
something  else.  Not  only  this,  but  as  it  was  done  to 
get  rich,  it,  of  course,  had  to  be  carried  on  upon  the 
largest  possible  scale.  And  this,  of  course,  could  not 
be  done  without  hiring  labor  and  buying  machinery; 
both  of  which  were  very  expensive  at  this  distance 
from  manufacturing  centers.  All  this  is  too  much  like 
gambling.  The  outlay  is  a  certainty;  the  income  an 
uncertainty.  Of  course  it  often  wins.  And  so  one 
does  at  roulette  or  trente  et  quaratite,  if  the  game  be 
honestly  played. 

This  style  of  farming  was  very  contagious.  The 
small  farmers,  who  began  to  come  in,  imitated  the 
larger  ones,  and  farmed,  not  for  something  to  eat,  but 
to  raise  something  to  haul  one  or  two  days'  journey 
to  market  to  sell,  perhaps,  at  a  low  price  for  money 
with  which  to  buy  provisions  at  a  high  price  to  haul 
all  the  way  home  again  to  eat.  Nor  was  this  the  only 
way  in  which  they  imitated  them.  The  man  who  had 
only  forty  acres  of  grain  could  not  bend  his  back  to 
the  cradle  or  flail,  as  his  grandfather  had  done  who 
supported  a  large  family  on  the  barren  hills  of  New 
England,  or  his  father  who  pioneered  the  forests  of 


RURAL   LIFE.  1 63 

Michigan  or  Wisconsin;  nor  could  he  even  trudge 
along  behind  a  single  plow  as  they  did.  He  must  have 
a  fancy  plow  that  he  could  ride  upon  as  well  as  his 
neighbor  who  farmed  a  thousand  acres;  though  it 
cost  ten  times  what  the  other  plow  cost,  and  did  its 
work  not  half  as  well.  A  header  being  too  expensive 
to  keep  for  a  small  farm,  he  had  to  hire  his  grain 
cut  with  one,  paying  $1.25  an  acre  to  see  from  ten  to 
twenty  per  cent  of  his  grain  wasted  with  the  ponder- 
ous machine,  and  the  value  of  as  much  more  eaten  up 
by  the  army  of  horses  and  ravenous  hands  that  were 
required  to  run  it.  The  general  principle  upon  which 
all  farming  was  done,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest, 
was  very  nearly  this  :  do  nothing  yourself  that  you 
can  hire  any  one  else  to  do;  make  no  machinery  at 
home,  and  raise  nothing  to  eat  that  you  can  buy.  Ask 
any  one  of  them  the  reason  of  this,  and  you  would 
be  told  that  a  man's  time  is  worth  too  much  to  spend 
at  such  things ;  in  other  words,  such  trifling  econo- 
mies are  beneath  the  notice  of  a  genuine  money- 
maker, such  as  the  average  farmer  imagined  himself 
to  be. 

In  addition  to  this,  the  differences  of  the  seasons 
and  the  peculiarities  of  nature  made  some  branches, 
especially  such  as  grain-raising,  the  merest  gambling. 
When  there  is  sufficient  rain  in  winter,  grain  sown 
upon  unplowed  ground,  even  an  old  hard  road-bed, 
will,  with  only  one  third  of  the  amount  of  seed  that 
is  rieeded  in  Minnesota,  yield  a  heavy  crop.  So  heavy 
is  the  "  stooling"  or  suckering-out  during  the  cool 
nights  of  winter  that  forty  or  fifty  stalks  growing  from 


1(34  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

a  single  kernel  are  not  uncommon  in  such  years. 
Over  one  hundred  have  been  found,  and  the  writer 
himself  has  counted  sixty-six.  In  seasons  of  insuffi- 
cient winter  rains,  a  profitable  crop  upon  the  greater 
part  of  the  lowlands  was  impossible,  even  on  the  best- 
plowed  ground.  The  conclusion  was  obvious.  Plant 
the  largest  amount  of  acres  possible,  so  as  to  hit  it 
if  the  season  is  wet;  if  dry,  you  will  get  nothing  any- 
how; in  other  words,  bet  upon  the  season.  The  conse- 
quence was  the  scratching  in  with  a  light  broad 
cultivator  or  a  harrow,  or  even  a  drag  of  brush,  of 
thousands  of  acres  at  no  more  expense  than  one 
could  seed  as  many  hundreds  of  acres  well.  The 
reasoning  was  plausible  enough  to  run  away  with 
nearly  every  one.  But  it  was  fatally  defective,  be- 
cause— 

First.  It  was  not  true  that  in  a  dry  season  one  will 
get  nothing.  Except,  perhaps,  in  such  rare  years  as 
1864  or  1877,  the  farmer  who  puts  in  grain,  as  is  done 
in  New  York  or  Pennsylvania,  will  always  get  back 
four  or  five  times  his  seed;  and  as  the  straw  in  such 
years  is  very  short  and  ripened  in  dry  air  without  rain 
or  dew,  it  is  as  good  as  the  best  hay,  and  he  gets 
enough  from  that  alone  to  pay  more  than  the  cost  of 
harvesting  it. 

Second.  Such  farming  ignored  the  half-and-half 
years  when  good  husbandry  tells  here  as  well  as  any- 
where, and  it  also  allowed  the  land  to  become  so  foul 
with  wild  oats,  mustard,  cheat,  etc.,  that  in  a  few 
years  the  crop  was  greatly  reduced. 

Third.  Such  farming  would    be   a   failure    in  any 


RURAL   LIFE.  165 

country  in  the  world.  And  even  in  California,  a  good 
crop  in  five  years  out  of  ten  would  not  sufficiently  off- 
set an  almost  total  loss  in  the  other  five. 

This  principle  was  extended  to  many  other  things; 
and  the  fact  that  Nature  here  favored  the  farmer  in 
many  ways  in  which  she  never  favored  him  in  the 
East,  instead  of  making  him  a  better  farmer,  only 
made  him  a  worse  one.  That  he  had  an  almost  end- 
less series  of  fine  days  before  him  in  which  to  do  any- 
thing was  only  a  reason  for  putting  it  off  until  prob- 
ably it  never  was  done  at  all.  That  he  was  little 
troubled  with  weeds  that  quickly  choke  out  the  tallest 
corn  in  Illinois  and  the  other  prairie  States,  instead 
of  enabling  him  to  raise  better  corn,  only  taught  him 
that  there  was  no  need  of  plowing  corn  here.  Hence 
corn,  potatoes,  and  other  things,  when  he  planted  them 
at  all,  he  put  in  so  that  they  could  not  be  plowed 
either  way,  or,  at  best,  more  than  one  way.  Possibly 
he  cultivated  them  once  by  running  a  scratching-ma- 
chine  through  them,  the  word  cultivate  being  here 
derived  from  cultivator;  that  is,  to  cultivate  land  is  to 
run  a  machine  known  as  a  cultivator  over  it — once. 
But  in  most  cases  he  never  touched  the  land  after 
planting  it.  If  the  winter  rains  were  heavy  enough,  or 
the  crop  were  on  wet  bottom-lands,  he  got  a  fair  yield 
in  spite  of  his  neglect.  If  he  did  not,  he  charged  the 
loss  up  to  the  season,  and  never  to  himself.  The  same 
thing  was  seen  in  the  majority  of  the  fruit-growers. 
That  trees  would  grow  and  bear  good  fruit,  though 
stamped  into  a  small  hole  in  hard  ground,  was  only  a 
reason  why  they  should  be  thus  planted  instead  of  a 


1 66  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

reason  why  they  would  do  better  than  in  the  East  if 
properly  planted. 

Such  and  analogous  influences  made  the  average 
farmer  of  Southern  California  the  most  shiftless,  slov- 
enly farmer  on  earth,  infinitely  worse  than  the  peons 
of  Mexico,  when  we  consider  his  opportunities  for 
knowing  better.  He  is  passing  away,  but  too  much 
of  him  and  his  work  still  remains.  In  his  place  is 
coming  the  old  Eastern  style  of  diversifying  industries, 
and  working  the  ground  more  thoroughly.  A  little  of 
this  has  indeed  been  done  for  many  years  with  results 
quite  unfailing.  For  many  years  there  have  been  a 
few — a  very  few  and  far  between — of  as  good  and 
careful  farmers  as  any  country  ever  had.  And  they 
live  much  better,  have  more  money  and  time  to  spend, 
than  the  same  class  of  farmers  do  anywhere  East. 
But  they  work  and  save  just  as  they  would  in  New 
Jersey  or  Ohio.  Of  late  they  are  finding  imitators, 
and  these  in  turn  find  others;  and  the  whole  country 
is  learning  that,  with  the  same  farming  that  pays  in 
Pennsylvania,  a  better  living  can  be  made  in  Cali- 
fornia; and  that  without  it,  it  is  never  much  better, 
and  often  worse. 

Fruit-farming  which  is  now  taking  possession  of  the 
land  has  passed  through  much  the  same  stages  of 
development,  though  far  more  rapidly.  In  the  larger 
districts,  such  as  Riverside,  San  Bernardino,  San  Ga- 
briel, Pasadena,  and  other  parts  of  Los  Angeles  Coun- 
ty, as  fine  and  careful  work  is  now  generally  done  as 
ever  was  seen.  The  man  who  plants  an  orchard  or 
vineyard,  and  then  leaves  it  to  take  care  of  itself,  has 


RURAL   LIFE.  \6j 

about  disappeared  from  there,  and  even  in  San  Diego 
county  he  is  growing  yearly  scarcer.  In  Los  Angeles 
and  San  Bernardino  counties,  one  may  see  hundreds 
of  orchards  and  vineyards  where  in  summer  the 
plow  and  the  cultivator  never  rest,  and  where  one 
may  walk  for  miles  without  seeing  a  weed.  When  all 
of  Southern  California  discovers,  as  many  have  dis- 
covered, that  the  office  of  cultivation  is  not  solely  the 
killing  of  weeds,  and  that  summer  is  really  the  time 
to  cultivate  instead  of  the  time  to  stop  cultivating, 
the  land  will  be  a  sight  that  no  other  country  can  ever 
show.  Nowhere  else  does  nature  return  more  for 
so  little  labor,  or  bring  trees  and  vines  so  quickly 
into  full  bearing.  The  only  trouble  is  that  that  little 
is  considerably  short  of  enough. 


1 68  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    STORY    OF    THE    PLOW. 

The  history  of  the  discoveries  by  which  a  State 
that  but  thirty-five  years  ago  was  pronounced  worth- 
less for  farming  has,  with  much  of  its  best  land  yet 
untilled,  risen  to  the  very  foremost  rank  among  the 
productive  States  of  our  country,  cannot  be  other 
than  interesting.  Those  discoveries  are  not  only 
worthy  of  notice  as  a  strange  chapter  in  the  history 
of  progress,  but  are  most  important  in  their  bearing 
upon  the  future  of  vast  tracts  of  country  in  old  Mex- 
ico, New  Mexico,  and  similar  climates  that  are  now 
deemed  worthless  for  anything  but  stock  ranges. 
And  many  a  farmer,  gardener,  and  horticulturist, 
even  east  of  the  Mississippi,  may  learn  something 
from  them. 

The  judgment  "  worthless  for  agriculture"  was  not 
confined  to  statesmen  at  Washington  like  Daniel 
Webster,  who  had  never  seen  California,  and  possibly 
knew  little  of  farming  anywhere.  It  was  not  hastily 
given  by  a  few  trappers  or  explorers  and  quietly  ac- 
quiesced in  without  question,  as  was  for  years  the 
name  of  "  Great  American  Desert "  given  to  the 
plains  of  Kansas  and  Nebraska,  where  no  one  then 
cared  to  stay  longer  than  to  chase  the  buffalo.     It 


THE    STORY  OF   THE  PLOW.  1 69 

was  calmly  and  deliberately  given  by  hundreds  of 
practical  farmers  among  the  gold-seeke-rs,  who  were 
charmed  with  the  novelty,  beauty,  and  climate  of  the 
new  country,  and  who  would  have  been  only  too  glad 
to  see  some  encouragement  to  remain  and  make  a 
permanent  home.  But  they  could  find  nothing,  either 
in  their  own  experience  or  that  of  the  Mexican  resi- 
dents, to  cast  a  ray  of  hope;  and  for  a  long  time  the 
sole  idea  of  the  Argonauts  of  '49  was  to  make  a  for- 
tune in  the  mines  and  return  East  again  to  enjoy  it. 

All  this  was  quite  natural.  The  old  Spanish  resi- 
dents rarely  attempted  to  raise  anything  without  irri- 
gation, except  upon  wet  or  swampy  lands,  and  many 
irrigated  even  there.  A  drouth  of  only  two  months 
was  in  the  Eastern  States  quite  fatal  to  profitable 
farming,  and  here  was  one  of  sfx  or  seven  months  in 
every  year.  The  nights  in  winter  were  a  little  too 
cold  for  good  growth.  Even  the  winter  rains  some- 
times failed  almost  entirely;  and  often  when  there 
was  a  winter  of  sufficient  rain,  its  distribution  was  so 
capricious  that  two  or  three  months  of  warm  and 
cloudless  days  were  at  any  time  liable  to  dry  out  a 
crop  in  the  very  middle  of  what  was  called  the  "  rainy 
season." 

After  a  few  years  it  was  discovered  that  wheat  and 
barley  would  grow  and  mature  even  after  the  rains 
had  ceased,  just  as  the  native  wild  oats  did.  But 
this,  of  course,  would  not  be  the  case  with  things  that 
had  to  grow  during  the  summer,  and  especially  with 
such  things  as  corn,  potatoes,  etc.  After  a  time  it 
was  found  that  even  corn  and   potatoes  could  stand 


I  JO  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

the  long  dry  summer;  but  then  of  course  they  must 
be  planted  upon  land  having  water  just  below  the 
surface.  So  long  as  damp  bottom-lands  were  plenty, 
everything  that  was  to  grow  during  the  summer  was 
put  there  as  a  matter  of  course,  except  where  there 
were  facilities  for  irrigation  upon  drier  ground. 
Even  in  the  moist,  rich  valleys  of  Sonoma  and  Napa, 
now  about  the  most  certain  parts  of  the  United 
States  for  summer  crops,  it  was  for  many  years  an 
unquestioned  doctrine  that  wet  bottom-lands  or  irri- 
gation— both  combined,  if  possible — were  indispen- 
sable for  everything  but  grain. 

All  this  was  in  the  North,  where  there  was  nearly 
always  rain  enough  in  winter  to  soak  the  ground 
thoroughly  at  least  once,  where  the  wet  season  is 
much  longer  than  in  the  South,  and  where  there  is 
much  less  dry  weather  and  bright  sunshine  to  dry  out 
the' ground  and  wilt  vegetation.  In  the  South  there 
were  a  few  places  where  the  land  was  damp  with  sub- 
terranean water,  and  there  was  also  an  abundance  of 
flowing  water  that  could  be  turned  upon  it;  and  here 
some  ventured  to  plant  a  few  vineyards  and  raise  a 
few  potatoes  or  watermelons,  all  of  which  were  faith- 
fully irrigated.  But  to  plant  anything  anywhere  else 
would  have  been  deemed  madness,  even  in  years 
when  the  ground  was  thoroughly  wet,  to  say  nothing 
of  those  years  when  it  never  is  wet  ten  inches  deep. 

While  damp  bottom-lands  and  water  for  irrigation 
remained  plentiful  and  cheap,  these  doctrines  were 
accepted  axioms  of  California  farming.  But  as  set- 
tlers increased  and  wet  lands  and  running  water  be- 


THE   STORY  OF   THE  PLOW.  \J\ 

came  scarcer,  first  in  the  North  and  then  in  the  South 
the  farmer  began  to  venture  with  his  plow  upon 
higher  ground.  Cautiously  and  slowly  he  felt  his 
way  farther  and  farther  from  the  subterranean  water, 
at  first  upon  land  having  water  but  a  few  feet  from 
the  surface,  though  dry  upon  the  top;  then  timidly 
up  the  slopes.  But  many  a  year  rolled  around  before 
any  one  dared  strike  the  plow  into  a  surface  forty, 
fifty,  or  a  hundred  feet  from  water  below,  and  risk 
his  labor  and  seed  upon  the  result. 

It  is  easy  to  be  wise  when  the  hour  of  trial  is  over, 
and  the  cold  eye  of  experience  can  examine  results  at 
leisure.  Yet  one  can  hardly  consider  without  some 
surprise  the  length  of  time  that  the  direct  applica- 
tion of  water  to  the  roots  of  vegetation,  either  by 
irrigation  or  by  the  roots  reaching  down  into  it,  was 
in  Southern  California  considered  indispensable. 
Many  a  man  had  „in  his  Eastern  home  seen  corn 
march  triumphantly  through  long  summer  droughts, 
with  its  banners  all  green  and  untwisted,  solely  by 
the  aid  of  the  plow  and  the  hoe.  Yet  as  soon  as  he 
reached  California  he  forgot  it.  Many  a  one  had 
seen  one  corn-field  bowed  beneath  a  wealth  of  golden 
ears,  while  another  beside  it,  on  equally  good  land, 
yielded  only  a  scanty  crop  of  "nubbins"  and  "hog- 
corn,"  the  sole  difference  being  good  and  bad  cultiva- 
tion. All  of  them  when  boys  knew  that  the  place  to 
find  moist  ground  for  worms  with  which  to  go  fishing, 
in  dry  times  was  not  in  the  meadow  or  near  the  spring 
or  along  the  brook,  but  under  the  sawdust  behind  the 
mill,  the  tan-bark  near  the  tannery,  or  the   manure 


172  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

behind  the  barn.  Yet  all  this  they  forgot,  and 
thought  that  water  alone  could  keep  ground  moist. 
That  a  mulch,  almost  as  effective  to  retain  moisture 
as  loose  sawdust,  could  be  formed  from  the  top-soil 
itself  by  plowing  and  pulverizing  never  occurred  to 
them,  and  was  found  out  only  by  the  hard  knocks  of 
obtrusive  experience;  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  this 
chapter  is  not  more  interesting  as  a  history  of  human 
dullness  than  of  human  progress.  If  four  or  five 
inches  of  sawdust  will  keep  ground  moist  for  two 
months  under  a  broiling  sun,  why,  if  kept  loose,  will 
it  not  do  so  for  four  or  six  months  ?  And  if  loose 
top-soil  will  serve  the  same  purpose,  what  more  is 
needed  than  to  keep  it  loose  ?  What  could  be  more 
obvious  than  the  answers  to  these  questions  ?  Yet 
nothing  did  man  ever  learn  more  slowly.  And  even 
now  it  is  but  half  understood  by  many  who  do  not 
plow  half  deep  enough  and  stop  cultivating  when 
summer  comes  because  the  weeds  cease  to  grow, 
whereas  it  is  the  very  time  when  the  top-soil  needs 
the  most  constant  stirring.  It  is  better  even  to  let 
the  weeds  grow  all  winter  and  plow  all  summer  than 
to  stop  with  the  last  rain,  as  many  do. 

This  discovery  is  now  much  over-rated  by  many 
who  see  in  it  the  only  chance  to  sell  dry  lands.  Fair- 
ly stated  it  amounts  to  this:  Four-fifths  of  the  up- 
land soils,  when  once  fairly  wet  to  a  respectable 
depth,  will,  by  good  plowing  and  constant  stirring  of 
the  top-soil  to  a  depth  of  five  or  six  inches,  retain 
during  the  longest  and  hottest  summer  and  fall 
moisture  enough  up  to  within  four  or  five  inches  of 


THE   STORY   OF    THE   PLOW.  1/3 

the  top  to  raise  most  kinds  of  deciduous  trees,  all 
kinds  of  grapes,  with  many  things  like  corn,  pota- 
toes, etc.,  and  keep  alive  and  growing  almost  any 
kind  of  deep-rooted  plant.  The  four  or  five  inches 
of  loose  top-soil  will  be  dry  as  an  ash  -  heap,  but 
below  it  the  ground  may  be  moist  enough  eight 
months  after  the  last  rain  to  pack  in  the  hand.  And 
this,  one  hundred  feet  or  more  from  water  beneath. 
On  unplowed  land  just  beside  this  the  ground  will 
by  August  probably  be  dry  as  a  brick  for  ten  feet  in 
depth,  though  thoroughly  wet  three  months  before. 
Where  water  is  within  a  few  feet  of  the  surface  such 
stirring  will  bring  up  the  moisture  from  below, 
so  that  such  soils  may  sometimes  be  made  moist 
even  without  a  drop  of  rain  to  start  with.  It  is 
also  probable  that  it  absorbs  moisture  from  the  air 
at  night. 

The  application  of  this  principle,  even  in  quite  a 
crude  form,  has  made  possible  the  settlement  and 
profitable  cultivation  of  millions  of  acres  that  not 
twenty  years  ago  were  considered  fit  only  for  stock. 
Twenty-five  years  ago  almost  every  vineyard  and  or- 
chard in  the  State  was  upon  the  lowest  ground  ob- 
tainable, and  even  there  was  kept  in  a  chronic  state 
of  soak  from  a  ditch.  To-day  most  of  the  vine- 
yards are  on  high  dry  lands  and  not  irrigated  at  all 
for  wine-grapes;  while  peaches,  apricots,  etc.,  arc 
grown  in  thousands  of  places  without  water,  and  corn- 
crops  of  thirty-five  and  forty  bushels  to  the  acre  have 
been  raised  on  land  fifty  feet  or  more  from  under- 
ground water  on  a  rainfall    of    only  fifteen   inches, 


174  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

every  drop  of  which  fell  before  the  seed  was  planted. 
I  am  perfectly  aware  that  this  corn  story  seems  mon- 
strous, but  it  is  as  true  as  anything  in  this  book.  To 
do  this  well  requires  work,  but  no  more  than  the 
Kansas  or  Illinois  farmer  has  to  do  to  keep  his  corn 
from  being  lost  in  weeds.  Its  effects  upon  grain  are 
quite  as  striking.  If  a  piece  of  ground  be  well 
plowed  in  the  spring,  allowed  to  lie  fallow  during  the 
summer,  plowed  again  and  pulverized  late  in  the  fall, 
and  sown,  it  is  quite  certain  to  yield  a  crop  of  grain. 
The  moisture  thus  retained  during  the  summer  will 
make  a  growth  which  will  well  repay  the  harvesting 
in  three  out  of  four  of  what  are  known  as  dry  years. 
And  even  in  such  rare  ones  as  1877  or  1864,  if  the 
crop  should  be  too  light  to  be  worth  cutting,  it  will 
still  be  large  enough  to  be  well  worth  pasturing  off 
with  cattle  or  hogs,  or  cutting  for  hay.  This  summer 
fallowing,  if  properly  carried  out,  makes  nearly  all 
crops  a  certainty ;  and  though  it  keeps  the  farmer 
from  working  more  than  half  his  land  at  a  time,  in 
the  end  it  is  fully  compensated  for  by  keeping  the 
land  clean  of  weeds  and  preventing  its  exhaustion  by 
cropping. 

This  state  of  affairs  is  to-day  almost  undreamed-of 
outside  of  California.  On  the  Rio  Grande,  in  New 
Mexico,  you  may  find,  not  Mexicans  only,  but  Ameri- 
cans, drenching  with  water,  in  the  old  Californian 
style,  vineyards  on  damp,  loose  bottom-lands  not  ten 
feet  from  water.  Tell  them  that  in  California,  with  a 
lighter  rainfall  and  a  longer  and  hotter  dry  season, 
they  are  now  raising  larger  crops  of  far  better  grapes 


THE   STORY  OF    THE   TLOW.  1/5 

on  dry  uplands,  a  hundred  feet  or  more  from  water, 
without  a  particle  of  irrigation,  and  they  stare  at  you 
as  at  an  escaped  lunatic. 

Near  Santa  Fe  and  in  the  Pecos  Valley  and  a 
dozen  other  places  in  New  Mexico,  and  in  hundreds 
of  places  in  old  Mexico,  I  saw  in  September,  1884, 
fields  of  corn  that  were  planted  on  unirrigable  up- 
lands, in  the  hope  of  catching  a  wet  season.  The 
work  was  done  in  the  style  in  which  such  a  gambling 
kind  of  farming  always  is  done,  with  the  least  possi- 
ble risk  of  losing  any  precious  vitality  by  work  whi<  h 
might  turn  out  to  be  thrown  away  in  case  the  season 
should  be  dry.  The  ground  was  scratched  about  two 
inches  deep, — in  old  Mexico  always  with  a  wooden 
plow, — the  corn  planted  about  twice  as  close  as  it 
should  be,  and  so  irregularly  that  any  cultivation 
either  way  after  planting  was  impossible.  In  all 
cases  the  evidence  was  positive  that  the  soil  had  never 
been  touched  after  the  corn  was  planted.  That  year 
was  in  both  those  countries  the  driest  known  for 
twelve  or  fifteen  years.  Yet  nearly  all  that  corn  was 
green  even  in  the  last  week  of  September,  all  of  it 
tasseled  out,  and  most  of  it  eared,  though,  of  course, 
defectively.  It  was  precisely  what  corn  would  be  in 
New  York  or  New  Jersey  with  the  same  planting  and 
the  same  neglect,  better  than  much  corn  was  at  the 
same  time  in  Ohio  and  Indiana,  where  there  had  been 
an  extraordinary  drought  that  summer,  and  better 
than  corn  similarly  neglected  would  ever  be  in  one  of 
California's  driest  years.  Is  not  the  inference  irre- 
sistible that  if  it  had  been  properly  planted  and  culti- 


176  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

vated  all  summer  it  would  have  made,  not  a  big  crop 
indeed,  but  a  paying  crop  ? 

Both  the  Mexicos,  as  well  as  Arizona,  have  a  great 
advantage  over  California,  so  far  as  utilizing  the  rain- 
fall is  concerned,  of  having  it  in  summer  instead  of 
winter.  In  California  half  the  rain  is  sometimes  lost 
by  cold  nights  holding  back  vegetation,  while  dry 
winds  and  bright  suns  by  day  dry  out  the  ground 
without  increasing  growth.  For  some  strange  reason, 
the  higher  we  go  above  sea-level  the  easier  it  becomes 
to  raise  anything  by  cultivation  alone.  On  the  moun- 
tain-plains and  table-lands  of  San  Diego  especially 
good  crops  of  grain  are  raised  upon  a  rainfall  that 
twenty-five  hundred  feet  lower  would  scarcely  make 
a  crop  worth  cutting.  What  little  tillage  of  the  soil 
there  is  on  the  highlands  of  New  Mexico  indicates 
plainly  that  the  same  rule  applies  there.  The  coun- 
try around  Santa  Fe  has  about  the  same  rainfall  as 
that  of  Los  Angeles,  and  the  time  will  certainly  come 
when  large  tracts  of  unirrigable  land  in  New  Mexico 
will  produce  even  better  than  much  of  the  unirri- 
gated  land  of  Los  Angeles  County. 

In  old  Mexico  the  certainty  that  thorough  cultiva- 
tion will  yet  cover  with  prosperous  farms  millions  of 
acres  now  considered  waste  land,  because  unirrigable, 
is  far  greater.  On  much,  such  as  the  Bolson  de  Ma- 
pimi,  the  rainfall  is  certainly  too  light.  But  there  are 
millions  of  acres  like  those  of  the  State  of  Aguas 
Calientes.  Here  the  average  rainfall  for  fifteen  years 
is  nineteen  and  a  half  inches,  with  a  maximum  of 
twenty-four  and  a  minimum  of  twelve,  nearly  all  fall- 


THE   STORY  OF    THE   PLOW.  177 

ing  from  April  to  September,  inclusive.  This  is  a  far 
better,  steadier,  and  more  reliable  rainfall  than  the 
best  parts  of  the  Southern  California  lowlands  have, 
and  on  these  lowlands  the  minimum  often  falls  far 
below  twelve  inches,  while  the  maximum,  if  it  passes 
twenty -four  inches,  may  prove  positively  injurious. 
Millions  of  acres  of  the  richest  land  in  the  world  lie 
in  Mexico  under  a  rain-belt  like  this,  and  millions  of  it 
with  subterranean  water  close  to  the  surface.  Sup- 
pose, now,  we  plow  deeply  and  thoroughly  a  piece  of 
such  land  in  the  latter  part  of  summer,  pulverizing  it 
well  after  the  last  rains,  so  that  it  cannot  bake  or  be 
come  crusted.  No  matter  hov  deep  the  subterranean 
water  may  be,  it  is  certain  to  remain  moist  ail  winter 
without  a  drop  of  rain,  and  be  in  perfect  condition  for 
the  planting  of  the  seed  in  April  or  May.  The  effect 
of  twelve  inches  of  rain  in  the  next  five  months,  ac- 
companied by  such  cultivation  as  in  Illinois  would  be 
necessary  to  keep  the  weeds  from  choking  out  the 
crop,  is  as  certain  as  is  the  effect  of  the  union  of  fire 
and  gunpowder.  Undei  the  Mexican  system  the 
ground  is  as  hard  as  a  stone  in  spring.  Two  or  three 
of  the  best  rains  are  lost  in  getting  it  moist  enough 
to  plow  and  plant.  The  plowing  is  merely  scratching 
with  a  wooden  plow,  and  it  is  all  planted  too  close, 
and  never  touched  after  planting.  And  yet  the  corn 
always  grows  and  lives  and  often  makes  a  crop  ! 

This   new   principle   of  cultivation   of  the    ground 

has  made  California  one  of  the  richest  States  in  the 

Union,  and  will  make  it  still  richer,  for  its  full  extent 

is   even   here  but  half   understood   by  the  majority. 

8* 


1/8  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

It  will  make  possible  thousands  of  prosperous  homes 
in  the  sun-lands,  where  we  now  see  only  open  plains 
or  valleys.  Yet  it  will  be  many  a,  year  before  it  does 
so.  The  ignorance  upon  this  point  outside  of  Cali- 
fornia is  dense  and  all-pervading;  so  much  so  that  an 
opinion  upon  the  capabilities  of  any  of  the  countries 
having  a  dry  season  by  any  one  unacquainted  with 
Southern  California  is  absolutely  worthless.  From 
the  Mexicans  we  can  expect  no  better,  because  the  in- 
telligent people  there  never  trouble  themselves  about 
farming;  the  whole  of  it  being  intrusted  to  the  igno- 
rant peons,  who  know  little  except  to  follow  ancestral 
methods.  But  what  shall  we  say  of  Americans  like 
U.  S.  Consul  Strothers  ( "  Porte-Crayon"),  who,  in  his 
report,  says  "  agriculture  cannot  be  carried  on  with- 
out irrigation,"  and  recommends  steam-pumping  ma- 
chinery to  raise  water  in  the  valley  of  Mexico,  where 
the  subterranean  water  is  hardly  anywhere  six  feet 
below  the  surface,  and  where  the  records  of  the  last 
ten  years  show  an  average  of  twenty-four  inches,  with 
a  maximum  of  thirty-six  and  a  minimum  of  sixteen, 
nearly  all  falling  during  the  five  best  growing  months  ? 
Like  all  the  other  Americans  there,  he  blindly  and 
without  question  adopts  the  opinion  of  the  natives, 
who  never  use  anything  but  a  wooden  plow,  and  use 
that  solely  to  scratch  up  enough  loose  soil  to  cover 
the  seed  with,  the  ground  two  inches  below  remain- 
ing as  hard  as  their  sun-burned  adobe  bricks.  But 
this  idea  by  no  means  originates  with  the  Mexicans. 
A  very  intelligent  gentleman  from  Kansas,  an  ex-offi- 
cer of  the  U.  S.  army,  a  polished  writer,  and  exten- 


THE   STORY  OF    THE    PLOW.  1 79 

sive  traveler  throughout  the  West  and  Southwest, 
with  whom  I  was  discussing  California  last  year,  re- 
marked: "Well,  you  may  possibly  make  grape-vines 
and  a  few  kinds  of  trees  live  without  irrigation,  but 
you  never  can  make  me  believe  that  you  can  raise 
wheat  without  it."  Yet  fully  ninety-five  per  cent  of 
the  enormous  wheat-crop  of  California  is  raised  with- 
out it,  the  irrigation  for  grain  being  limited  to  a  few 
small  tracts  in  the  San  Joaquin  Valley,  where  the  rain- 
fall is  very  light  and  river-water  is  abundant  and 
cheap. 


l8o  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

THE   PERFECTION    OF    AGRICULTURE. 

Many  a  little  settlement  that  now  raises  anything 
of  consequence  without  irrigation  flatters  itself  that  it 
alone  has  made  the  discovery  that  water  may  be  dis- 
pensed with.  And  many  a  person  having  unirrigable 
land  to  sell  has  worked  himself  into  an  honest  belief 
that  he  is  actually  better  off  without  any  facilities  for 
irrigating.  But  the  opinions  expressed  by  such  when 
no  possible  purchasers  are  within  hearing  is  not  al- 
ways the  same  as  the  one  they  deliver  on  the  street 
corner. 

There  is  no  such  case  on  trial  as  that  of  Cultivation 
vs.  Irrigation,  any  more  than  there  is  of  Vegetables  vs. 
Meat.  And  there  never  will  be.  Between  thorough 
cultivation  without  irrigation,  and  irrigation  without 
any  cultivation,  for  most  kinds  of  land,  there  is  now 
little  room  for  question.  Nearly  any  one  of  sense 
would  now  decide  in  favor  of  the  former — the  very 
reverse  of  the  judgment  nearly  every  one  would  have 
given  fifteen  years  ago.  But  the  two  judiciously  com- 
bined are  just  as  superior  to  either  alone  as  vegetables 
and  meat  combined  are  superior  to  either  one  alone. 
Just  as  thorough  cultivation  will  double,  triple,  or 
even  quadruple  the  yield  of  irrigated  land,  and  also 
improve  its  quality,  just  so  will   judicious  irrigation 


THE  PERFECTION  OF  AGRICULTURE.         1  8  I 

double,  triple,  or  quadruple  the  yield  of  anything 
grown  upon  cultivated  land,  and  much  improve  its 
quality  instead  of  injuring  it — an  effect  that  may  some- 
times be  produced  by  excessive  or  injudicious  use  of 
water.  Even  the  live-oaks  and  other  native  trees  and 
shrubs,  and  the  olive,  pepper-tree,  eucalyptus,  and 
other  natives  of  dry  countries  that  live  here  on  the 
very  driest  soils,  are  improved  a  hundred  percent  by 
a  very  little  irrigation  without  any  cultivation  at  all. 
On  most  of  the  land  of  the  drier  belts,  especially  the 
table-lands,  which,  on  account  of  warm  nights,  are  the 
most  valuable  of  all,  irrigation  is  a  necessity  for  good 
success  with  anything. 

For  many  things,  such  as  vegetables,  berries,  flower- 
gardens,  ornamental  shrubbery,  lawns,  alfalfa,  oranges, 
lemons,  and  a  hundred  other  things,  irrigation  is  an 
absolute  necessity  on  almost  any  soil.  The  plants  or 
trees  may  indeed  be  made  to  live  without  it;  but  it 
will  be  little  more  than  living.  However  good  the 
fruit  upon  a  young  orange-tree  may  be  without  water- 
ing, when  it  becomes  older  and  bears  more  fruit  it 
becomes  like  the  full-grown  man  for  whom  the  bottle 
of  milk  that  sufficed  when  he  was  in  his  cradle  is  no 
longer  enough.  And  after  winters  of  insufficient  rain- 
fall, such  as  must  be  counted  upon  in  four  or  five 
years  out  of  ten,  even  olives,  apricots,  peaches,  raisin- 
grapes,  and  other  fruits  which  generally  need  no  water 
in  summer  will,  without  watering,  generally  be  too 
small  to  be  profitable,  though  the  vines  or  trees  may 
live  and  bear  without  it.  Even  where  the  roots  of 
alfalfa — a  perennial  clover  from  Chili  that  yields  stu- 


I  82  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

pendous  crops  of  hay  six  or  eight  times  a  year — read- 
ily reach  subterranean  water,  irrigation  is  generally 
needed  to  drown  out  the  gophers  which  quickly  de- 
stroy it  by  eating  the  roots,  and  water  doubles  the 
yield  even  on  the  lowest  grounds. 

Irrigation  is  again  indispensable  in  making  a  pretty 
place,  as  may  be  quickly  seen  in  those  parts  of  Los 
Angeles  County  where  the  art  of  dispensing  with  water 
has  long  been  studied,  and  is  now  carried  to  its  highest 
point,  and  wh^re  the  rainfall  is  above  the  average  of 
that  of  the  lowlands.  There  are,  of  course,  mountain 
valleys  where  watering  is  needless,  but  these  form 
but  a  small  portion  of  the  habitable  part  of  the  land. 
The  relative  prices  of  dry  and  irrigable  land  in  the 
parts  of  Los  Angeles  County  above  mentioned  settle 
the  question  of  values  at  once;  for  irrigable  land  sells 
readily  at  from  three  to  ten  times  the  price  at  which 
the  other  goes  begging  for  buyers.  Water  is  also 
generally  indispensable  to  a  place  that  is  to  be  very 
profitable,  especially  if  a  small  one.  With  a  little 
water  one  gets  started  at  once.  Three  acres  in  alfalfa 
will  keep  an  ordinary  family  in  milk,  butter,  and  pork, 
and  two  more  well  managed  will  supply  it  with  vege- 
tables and  eggs.  On  dry  land  one  may  have  to  wait 
a  year  or  two  for  rain  enough  to  plant  anything,  and 
then  may  not  be  able  to  raise  vegetables  or  anything 
from  which  an  immediate  living  may  be  had. 

The  discoveries  made  in  irrigation  have  been  quite 
as  remarkable  and  valuable  to  the  State  as  those 
made  in  the  management  of  dry  lands.  But  twenty- 
five  years  ago  all  that  was   known  about   irrigation 


THE  PERFECTION  OF  AGRICULTURE.         1 83 

was  the  Mexican  system,  imitated  from  the  native 
Californians — an  incessant  drench,  drench,  drench, 
year  in  and  year  out.  This  often  produced,  as  it  now 
does  in  parts  of  Mexico,  good  crops;  but  it  is  in  spite 
of  this,  and  not  by  virtue  of  it.  The  more  common 
results  were  small  crops,  weeds,  and  in  summer  mos- 
quitoes and  malaria.  For  such  low-growing  crops  as 
beans,  peppers,  or  potatoes  that  might  get  lost  amid 
weeds,  the  ground  was  sometimes  treated  to  a  per- 
functory scratching — just  enough  to  keep  the  vegeta- 
bles in  sight;  and  these  were  generally  so  planted  that 
proper  cultivation  either  way  was  impossible,  a  style 
of  planting  still  seen  in  many  places.  But  tall  things 
like  vines,  trees,  or  corn  were  left  to  battle  alone  with 
the  weeds;  their  size  being  deemed  sufficient  to  insure 
them  the  victory.  Trees  were  often  set  out  by  being 
chopped  out  of  the  nursery  instead  of  dug  out;  the 
ball  of  hard  earth  around  them  was  set  in  a  small  hole 
and  stamped  in  with  wet  earth.  Every  few  days  a 
stream  of  water  was  run  over  the  ground  immediately 
around  the  trunk,  or  else  the  whole  orchard  was 
turned  by  sections  into  a  quagmire.  That  was  all  the 
care  they  ever  had.  That  they  bore  at  all  was  a  mar- 
vel. Some — such  as  apricots,  peaches,  and  figs — even 
bore  good  fruit,  and  plenty  of  it.  But  others,  like  the 
orange  and  lemon,  rebelled  against  such  treatment; 
and  the  miserable?  spongy  sour  oranges,  thick-skinn<  d 
and  dry,  and  bitter  lemons,  so  common  only  ten  years 
ago, may  still  be  seen  where  the  old  style  of  treatment 
is  followed. 

A  miner's  inch  of  water  is  the  quantity  that  will  flow 


1 84  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

through  an  opening  an  inch  square  with  a  pressure  of 
four  inches  of  water  above  it.  This  flows  about  thir- 
teen thousand  gallons  in  twenty-four  hours,  and  would 
cover  an  acre  one  foot  deep  in  about  twenty-five  days; 
or  fifteen  acres  one  foot  deep  in  about  a  year.  This 
equals  the  smallest  annual  rainfall  upon  which  any- 
thing of  value  can  be  grown  This  miner's  inch  is 
the  standard  gauge  for  irrigation.  South  of  the  San 
Joaquin  an  inch  flowing  the  year  round  is  generally 
deemed  enough  for  ten  acres,  though  this  varies  with 
climate  and  rainfall.  At  Riverside  an  inch  is  needed 
to  six  acres;  at  Pasadena  an  inch  to  fifteen  or  twenty 
gives  fine  results.  Twenty  years  ago  the  average  was 
much  nearer  ten  inches  to  one  acre,  with  a  productive 
power  less  than  half  of  that  given  to-day  by  an  inch 
to  ten  acres.  Then  the  sole  dependence  was  upon 
water.  To-day  the  dependence  is  mainly  upon 
thorough  and  constant  cultivation,  using  the  water 
only  to  supply  that  needful  little  more  which  even  the 
finest  cultivation  positively  refuses  to  furnish  even 
when  winter  rains  have  thoroughly  soaked  the  ground. 
But  the  necessity  of  that  little  ??wre  for  many  things 
makes  water  as  important  as  ever,  and  its  value  is 
constantly  rising,  though  less  and  less  is  used. 

When  the  water  is  applied  more  than  an  inch  is 
used,  but  the  amount  required  for  any  piece  of  land  is 
estimated  on  the  basis  of  an  inch  flowing  the  year 
round,  to  so  many  acres.  Sometimes  a  stream  of 
twenty  or  thirty  inches  is  used  at  a  time.  This  would 
cover  an  acre  a  foot  deep  in  a  day.  But  it  is  not  ap- 
plied in  that  way.     Except  for  alfalfa  and  such  things, 


THE   PERFECTION  OF  AGRICULTURE.         li  ? 

only  a  part  of  th»  ground  is  wet.  In  some  places  the 
whole  system  of  handling  the  water  is  changed,  as  at 
Pasadena.  Iron  pipes  have  there  taken  the  place  of 
open  ditches,  and  the  water  is  used  mainly  through 
hydrants  and  hose.  Trees  are  irrigated  by  a  pool  of 
water  around  the  trunk,  retained  by  a  rim  of  earth, 
and  often  by  running  water  in  numerous  small  gut- 
ters in  the  soil  between  the  rows.  But,  whatever  the 
mode  of  watering,  the  ground  between  the  trees  is 
kept  constantly  stirred  during  the  dry  season.  This 
makes  the  very  perfection  of  agriculture,  an  inch  of 
water  tripling  or  quadrupling  the  yield  of  fifteen  or 
twenty  acres,  and  improving  the  quality  of  fruit,  yet 
causing  no  malaria,  mosquitoes,  or  other  old-time  ob- 
jections. 

Water  for  irrigation  is  often  procured  from  wells  by 
windmills,  steam-engines,  horse-power,  etc.  But  all 
such  are  expensive  or  annoying — generally  both — and 
the  only  thing  that  makes  a  settlement  of  any  conse- 
quence is  a  natural  flow  of  water  either  by  striking 
ancient  river-beds  and  getting  artesian  water  at  a  short 
distance,  as  at  San  Jacinto  or  San  Bernardino;  or  by 
ditches,  flumes,  or  pipes  from  a  running  stream,  as  at 
Santa  Anna  and  Ontario.  Before  such  facilities,  the 
windmill  folds  its  sails,  the  pump-horse  is  turned  out 
to  grass,  and  the  engine  sold  for  old  iron.  The  de- 
velopment of  water  by  tunneling  hill-sides  and  washes, 
as  well  as  by  catching  it  in  time  of  heavy  rain  in  res- 
ervoirs, as  in  Mexico  and  India,  is  as  yet  in  its  in- 
fancy. Much  has  been  learned,  yet  much  remains  to 
be  learned,  and  in  the  saving  and  use  of  water  more 


186  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

may  be  learned  in  the  next  thirty  years  than  has  been 
in  the  last  thirty. 

The  lessons  inculcated  here  might  be  applied  else- 
where with  advantage.  The  great  and  certain  results 
of  judicious  irrigation  would  be  of  great  advantage 
in  many  parts  of  the  East  during  the  dry  spells  so 
frequent  there  in  summer.  When  the  water-supplies 
of  New  Mexico  and  Arizona,  limited  as  they  are,  are 
developed  and  used  as  water  is  here,  and  their  lands 
cultivated  in  the  same  way,  vastly  different  results 
will  be  seen  over  large  tracts  that  are  now  considered 
fit  only  for  stock -ranges.  And  if  old  Mexico  ever 
learns  to  use  her  immense  facilities  for  irrigation  as 
economically  and  sensibly  as  California  does,  and 
learns  to  cultivate  her  unirrigable  lands  on  the  good 
rain  belts  (or  even  on  the  dry  belts,  where  subter- 
ranean water  is  close  to  the  surface),  she  will  speedily 
pay  her  national  debt  and  have  money  to  lend. 
With  a  system  of  farming  that  in  California  was 
worthless,  and  could  not  now  keep  a  hundred  thou- 
sand people  from  starvation,  Mexico  supports  eleven 
millions  of  people,  and  has  over  fifty  million  dollars' 
worth  of  produce  to  export.  What,  then,  will  be  the 
result  when  she  adopts  the  new  system  that,  in  what 
she  once  deemed  the  poorest  of  her  provinces,  with 
most  of  its  best  land  still  untitled,  already  supports 
nearly  a  million  of  people,  and  leaves  a  surplus  to  sell 
that  would  feed  and  support  ten  millions  more  ? 


PRODUCTION.  187 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

PRODUCTION. 

So  much  silly  trash  has  been  written  about  the  re- 
sults and  profits  of  farming  and  fruit-growing  in 
California  that  it  is  with  much  hesitation  that  I  ven- 
ture even  to  glance  at  them.  Space  forbids  any  full 
consideration  of  the  subject;  but  a  careful  study  of  a 
few  facts,  aided  by  caution  and  good  common-sense, 
will  give  one  a  fair  idea  of  it. 

Nearly  all  that  has  ever  been  written  of  the  pro- 
ductiveness of  California  is  literally  true.  The  error 
lies  in  weaving  a  lot  of  exceptional  truths  into  a  fab- 
ric which  is  quite  certain  to  be  taken  for  general 
truth.  This  error  is  often  intentional,  though  it  may 
be  also  honestly  committed,  as  it  was  by  the  author 
of  a  once  celebrated  book  on  California,  who  saw  it 
in  one  of  its  best  years,  and  was  wined  and  dined 
and  piloted  about  where  he  could  see  only  the  rosy 
side  of  things.  It  is  also  quite  common  to  suppress 
many  important  qualifications  either  because  they 
are  too  numerous  to  state,  or  because  it  is  assumed 
that  the  listener  or  reader  knows  enough  to  make 
them  for  himself.  And  many  such  modifications  are, 
in  fact,  so  obvious  to  every  adult  person  who  has  ever 
been  outside  of  a  city  that  it  is  one's  own  fault  if  he 
is  misled  by  the  failure  to  mention  them. 


1 88  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

For  instance,  it  is  just  as  true  that  beets  here  reach 
a  size  of  one  hundred  pounds  and  over,  that  sixty 
bushels  of  wheat  are  raised  to  the  acre,  that  huge 
pumpkins  or  squashes  lie  so  thick  on  the  ground  that 
one  can  walk  all  over  the  field  on  them,  as  that  in  the 
Mississippi  catfish  have  been  caught  weighing  fifty- 
pounds,  or  in  Dakota  forty  bushels  of  wheat  are  raised 
to  the  acre.  There  is  nothing  clever  in  offsetting 
such  statements  with  absurd  sarcasm  about  straw- 
berries weighing  fifty  pounds  apiece  "  back  in  my 
country,"  or  growing  pumpkin-pies  over  night  ready 
for  dinner  next  day,  etc.  If  any  one  is  so  ignorant 
as  to  conclude  from  such  statements  that  such  a  crop 
of  wheat  can  be  raised  here,  anywhere,  or  in  every 
year,  or  on  a  large  acreage  ;  that  a  double  crop  of 
squashes  implies  double  profits;  or  that  one-hundred- 
pound  beets  are  one  hundred  times  more  profitable 
than  one-pound  beets;  or  that  the  person  making  the 
statement  really  intends  to  convey  such  ideas,  it  is 
his  own  fault,  and  not  that  of  the  person  who  fails 
to  annex  all  the  proper  qualifications.  So,  too,  those 
who  call  it  the  land  of  "  perpetual  "  or  "  eternal  "  sun- 
shine do  not  mean  that  literally,  but  suppose  the 
reader  capable  of  making  the  proper  exceptions. 

Applying  such  and  similar  qualifications  which  the 
slightest  familiarity  with  country  life  in  the  East, 
combined  with  a  moderate  share  of  common-sense, 
will  suggest,  one  may  believe  any  statement  about 
the  products  of  the  soil  of  California  just  as  im- 
plicitly as  the  statements  about  the  big  trees.  So 
many   pamphlets,  books,    circulars,  folders,  etc.,  are 


PRODUCTION.  I89 

scattered  over  the  East  containing  information  of 
this  sort  that  I  shall  trouble  the  reader  with  none 
of  it. 

Southern  California  seems  to  produce  with  proper 
care  nearly  every  kind  of  tree,  shrub,  grass,  grain, 
herb,  or  tuber  that  is  at  all  common  or  useful  in  the 
temperate  zone,  together  with  a  large  number  of 
those  of  the  tropics.  Most  of  the  products  of  the 
temperate  zone  reach  here  their  highest  perfection, 
while  many  of  those  of  the  tropics  do  the  same.  Yet 
the  most  of  the  latter  can  be  grown  only  in  certain 
places,  and  even  there  may  require  nursing  ;  such  as 
the  banana,  whose  tender  leaves  are  frayed  and 
tattered  by  the  steady  action  even  of  the  gentle  sea- 
breeze,  and  may  need  protection.  Special  soils,  too, 
and  elevations  are  adapted  to  special  products.  The 
best  oranges  cannot  always  be  grown  upon  the 
strongest  wheat-land  ;  the  best  apples,  cherries, 
gooseberries,  and  potatoes  can  rarely  be  grown  un- 
der an  elevation  of  two  thousand  feet,  or  even  more; 
while  the  best  land  for  raisin-grapes  may  not  produce 
the  best  wine-grapes,  and  vice  versa. 

California  has  been  painted  in  such  high  colors 
that  the  reaction  from  contact  with  the  reality  natu- 
rally makes  one  hypercritical.  And  this  is  farther 
increased  by  the  folly  of  the  Californians  in  boasting 
of  the  size  of  things.  Apples  grown  along  the  lower 
levels  are  quite  apt  to  be  dry  and  deficient  in  flavor, 
although  very  large  and  fair  to  the  eye.  Vaporizing 
about  the  size  naturally  disposes  one  to  criticise 
the  contents  when  they  turn  out    inferior.      This   is 


IQO  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

often  very  just,  as  when  one  boasts  of  a  sweet-potato 
weighing  ten  or  fifteen  pounds;  a  great  waxy,  water- 
logged abomination,  the  size  of  which  is  merely  con- 
clusive evidence  that  it  is  unfit  to  eat.  On  the  other 
hand,  many  Eastern  visitors  are  hypercritical  for  the 
sake  of  showing  that  they  know  something.  Parve- 
nus from  Wisconsin  or  Nebraska  talk  as  if  they  were 
raised  on  Massachusetts  fall  pippins  or  New  Jersey 
sweet-potatoes,  and  Texas  shoddyites  as  if  raised  on 
beef  stall-fed  with  corn-meal.  Others,  who  would 
have  you  believe  they  have  traveled,  judge  the  entire 
orange-product  by  what  they  happen  to  find  on  the 
first  hotel  tables,  and  calmly  pass  a  sweeping  judg- 
ment upon  the  whole  potato  possibilities  of  the  South 
by  the  black,  soggy,  hollow-cored  importations  from 
Humboldt  County  which  the  hotel-keeper  buys  be- 
cause they  are  cheap. 

Some  things  will  be  at  times  inferior  to  those  of 
the  East;  such  as  strawberries,  which  may  be  quite 
sour  in  winter  and  early  spring  because  the  weather 
is  not  hot  and  dry  enough;  or  blackberries,  which, 
coming  much  later,  may  be  so  simply  because  it  is 
hot  and  dry.  Sweet-potatoes  are  generally  inferior 
to  the  best  Eastern  ones,  and  so  are  parsnips.  But 
not  because  they  grow  in  California.  The  sweet- 
potatoes  are  bad  because  a  good,  dry,  mealy  sweet- 
potato  can  be  raised  only  in  sand,  and  here  they  are 
generally  planted  in  good  soil,  soils  sufficiently  sandy 
being  very  scarce  even  if  the  farmers  knew  enough  to 
plant  them  there.  And  the  parsnips  are  bad  because 
a  parsnip  is  hardly  fit  to  eat  anywhere  without   lying 


PRODUCTION.  I     ! 

all  winter  in  frozen  ground,  and  that  is  rather  scarce 
here,  even  in  the  high  mountains. 

All  countries  raise  three  kinds  of  fruit;  good,  had, 
and  indifferent,  with  a  decided  tendency  in  the  indif- 
ferent to  predominate.  Southern  California  is  no  ex- 
ception. Its  best  fruit  is  the  very  best  in  the  world  ; 
its  worst,  the  very  worst.  In  the  East  it  has  long 
been  the  proper  thing  to  say  that  "California  fruit 
is  insipid.  It  is  very  fair  to  behold  and  a  fine  thing 
to  set  off  a  dinner-table  or  fancy  sideboard,  but  not 
to  eat."  All  of  which  shows  that  you  know  some- 
thing, and  have  associated  with  people  of  quality 
who  have  money  enough  to  be  judges  of  good  eating. 
Now,  this  remark  is  quite  true,  but  very  misleading, 
because  it  implies  either  that  all  California  fruit  is 
insipid,  or  that  which  is  so  is  necessarily  so.  Much 
of  the  California  fruit  seen  in  the  Eastern  markets  is 
indeed  insipid,  but  not  because  it  grew  in  California. 
It  is  because  it  is  over-irrigated,  which  would  make 
it  flat  anywhere.  Horace  noticed  this  eighteen  cent- 
uries ago. 

"  Caule  suburbano,  qui  siccis  crevit  in  agris 
Dulcior  ;  irriguo  nihil  est  elutius  horto." 

Sat.  IV.  Lib.  II. 

The  California  fruit-grower  knows  this  as  well  as 
any  one.  He  knows,  too,  that  the  world  judges  of 
fruit  mainly  by  size.  He  may  have  learned  by  bitter 
experience  that  it  is  quite  useless  to  tell  the  world 
that  smaller  fruit  may  be  of  better  flavor.  He  there- 
fore bloats  it  with  water  under  a  warm  sun  to  a  fair 
but  false  exterior. 


I92  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

Upon  the  character  of  the  apricots,  and  those  fine 
varieties  of  grapes  that  cannot  be  grown  East,  there 
is  no  room  for  dispute,  California  having  substan- 
tially a  monopoly  of  them  in  the  United  States.  It 
is  certain  that  these  are,  and  always  have  been,  the 
least  open  to  criticism  of  all  California  fruits.  Opin- 
ions differ  upon  the  oranges.  Even  the  orange- 
growers  here  are  by  no  means  united.  It  is  gener- 
ally conceded  that  those  of  Florida  are  sweeter  and 
more  juicy,  while  those  of  California  are  higher-fla- 
vored, but  have  more  pulp.  The  California  oranges 
have  more  sugar,  but  also  more  acid  and  less  water, 
and  become  sweeter  with  age.  All  this  applies,  how- 
ever, only  to  the  seedling  oranges.  The  choice 
budded  varieties  that  are  now  taking  the  place  of  the 
seedlings,  and  are  treated  to  a  very  different  cultiva- 
tion, would  be  a  credit  to  any  country  in  the  world. 
There  is  at  present  no  appeal  from  the  verdict  at 
the  New  Orleans  Exposition,  where  the  Californian 
oranges  took  the  high  premiums  over  the  best  of 
Florida.  But  their  great  advantage  is  that  they  are  in 
their  prime  months  after  those  of  Florida  are  gone, 
and  keep  for  weeks,  where  the  latter  keep  only  for 
days ;  hanging  ripe  and  uninjured  upon  the  tree  for 
five  or  six  months.  Yet  orange-growing  is  but  in  its 
infancy,  notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  learned 
about  it. 

The  fruit-growers  of  Southern  California  have  had 
to  contend  with  great  difficulties,  and  there  is  prob- 
ably no  other  place  in  the  world  where  so  many  men 
could  have  struggled  so  long  and  so  steadily,  and  at 


PRODUCTION.  I93 

such  a  constant  loss,  with  difficulties  so  numerous  and 
apparently  insurmountable.  The  ease  of  glutting 
the  home  market,  the  cost  of  transportation  else- 
where, the  danger  of  loss  or  damage  in  transit,  tin- 
great  temptation  to  cheat  offered  to  commission-mer- 
chants dealing  at  such  a  distance,  and  the  profits  of 
middlemen,  even  when  dealing  honestly,  have  brought 
many  a  producer  in  debt  when,  after  years  of  toil, 
disappointment,  and  expense,  he  had  at  last  succeeded 
in  raising  something  good  to  sell.  Long  and  costly 
experiments  with  wines  and  brandies  had  to  be  made 
with  little  hope  of  immediate  reward.  For  a  long 
time  after  they  had  learned  to  make  a  good  quality 
of  both,  the  snobbishness  of  home  consumers  refused 
to  patronize  them.  And  even  to-day  both  have  to 
beg  their  way  into  the  favor  of  the  wealthy,  both  at 
home  and  abroad,  under  French  labels.  Similar  diffi- 
culties and  many  more  too  numerous  to  mention,  of 
which  Eastern  fruit-growers  know  nothing,  along 
with  birds  and  bees  and  bugs,  rabbits,  squirrels, 
gophers,  and  what  not,  have  beset  nearly  every  man 
who  has  attempted  to  wrest  a  dollar  out  of  the  soil. 

Yet  through  all  the  clouds  they  have  ever  seen  one 
star  of  hope.  The  land  would  produce  a  variety, 
quantity,  and  quality  which  no  other  land  could 
equal.  They  would  one  day  find  out  how  to  conquer 
all  difficulties,  and  the  world  would  yet  recognize  the 
worth  of  what  they  could  raise.  They  had  only  to 
wait,  and  where  a  pleasanter  land  in  which  to  wait? 
The  majority  of  them  had  come  here  for  climate,  and 
were  here   to  stay,  whether  the  land  paid  their  way 


194  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

or  not.  Many  were  rich  ;  perhaps  the  most  of  them 
were.  With  them  it  was  largely  a  matter  of  pride 
and  amusement.  But  those  who  were  poor  kept  on  as 
bravely  as  any,  and  when  the  storekeeper  foreclosed 
his  mortgage,  they  got  another  place  and  went  at  it 
again. 

In  many  countries  such  perseverance  would  have 
been  in  vain.  But  here  it  could  result  only  in  suc- 
cess. There  was  absolute  safety  in  predicting  it.  The 
only  question  was  when.  The  results  were  delayed 
largely  by  the  fault  of  the  producers  themselves. 
France  and  Spain  learned  ages  ago,  by  such  insensi- 
ble degrees  that  they  probably  never  were  aware  of 
it,  that  merit  is  of  little  use  without  a  reputation, 
and  that  to  win  a  reputation  honest  packing  and  an 
honest  brand  are  indispensable.  As  man  learns 
nothing  from  the  experience  of  others,  California  had 
to  find  this  out  for  herself,  and  had  only  a  few  years, 
instead  of  centuries,  in  which  to  do  it.  Anything 
that  would  fill  up  a  box  was  labeled  Oranges.  Grape 
cider  fit  only  for  vinegar,  and  sweet,  sickening  com- 
pounds that  would  produce  headache  more  quickly 
than  a  green  hickory  club,  flooded  the  Eastern  mar- 
ket, under  the  name  of  "  California  wine."  Mere 
dried  grapes,  dried  on  the  ground  and  full  of  grit, 
bugs,  etc.,  were  sent  East  as  "  California  raisins." 
Such  folly  could  produce  but  one  result.  Folks  had 
sense  enough  to  discover  it  before  too  late  ;  the  prac- 
tice was  generally  stopped  ;  and  the  results  of  the 
stoppage  have  been  already  apparent  in  the  in- 
creased  demand   and  price  in  the  Eastern   markets. 


PRODUCTION.  195 

In  these  and  other  respects  probably  no  people  ever 
learned  so  fast  as  the  people  of  Southern  California. 
The  improvement  in  wines,  raisins,  dried,  evaporated, 
and  canned  fruits,  has  been  very  great.  But  the  im- 
provement in  the  orange  is  perhaps  the  most  marvel- 
ous of  all.  Only  ten  years  ago,  about  the  only  orange 
obtainable  even  in  Los  Angeles,  then  the  orange  cen- 
ter, was  a  great  coarse  thing,  black  with  scale,  mostly 
skin  and  pulp,  with  a  spoonful  or  two  of  sour  juice 
scattered  through  it.  Though  some  were  better  than 
others,  it  was  a  difference  only  of  degree,  less  bad  in- 
stead of  better.  The  fine  clean  thin  skinned,  sweet, 
juicy,  heavy  orange  of  to-day  was  then  never  seen  in 
market,  and  hardly  ever  anywhere  else,  because  they 
did  not  know  how  to  raise  it,  even  if  they  had  the 
trees.  The  wildest  enthusiast  about  California  in 
those  days  would  not  pretend  to  compare  its  oranges 
with  those  of  Florida.  The  only  market  then  was 
San  Francisco,  and  the  entire  crop  of  the  South  did 
not  exceed  the  thirty  car-loads  of  the  first  two 
orange  trains  that  went  East  at  the  opening  of  the 
present  shipping  season.  Until  two  years  ago  not  an 
orange  from  here  went  East  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
A  heavy  reduction  of  freights  started  shipments,  and 
last  year  twelve  hundred  car-loads  found  a  ready  and 
paying  market  from  St.  Louis  to  St.  Paul,  and  as  far 
East  as  Indiana.  This  year  the  shipment  is  much 
greater,  and  regular  fruit  trains  are  now  run  on  ex- 
press time  to  Chicago.  Almost  an  equal  improve- 
ment is  visible  in  other  things.  Raisins,  well  cured 
and  packed,  no  longer  have  to  beg  a  purchaser.     The 


I96  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

new  winery  at  San  Gabriel  is  the  largest  in  the  world, 
and,  with  several  others,  takes  at  good  cash  prices 
all  the  grapes  that  can  be  brought  to  its  doors.  Sim- 
ilar changes  are  taking  place  with  canned  and  dried 
fruits.  The  result  is  that  everywhere  the  wheat-field  is 
turning  into  an  orchard,  the  sheep-range  into  a  vine- 
yard ;  for  the  isolation  is  at  last  broken,  and  the 
market  can  never  again  be  merely  local. 

The  land  produces  at  times  stupendous  crops  of 
grain.  But  in  the  lowlands  the  failure  of  the  winter 
rains  causes  too  much  uncertainty  in  five  years  out  of 
ten;  and  those  mountain  regions  like  the  highlands 
of  San  Diego,  where  sufficient  rain  is  a  certainty,  are 
too  far  from  market,  and  such  produce  needs  too  much 
heavy  hauling.  Moreover,  all  kinds  of  machinery  are 
expensive,  and  the  California  farmer  must  have  a 
machine  upon  which  he  can  ride.  Raising  grain  by 
irrigation  is  not  profitable,  except  in  a  few  spots  in 
the  San  Joaquin  Valley,  and  is  not  attempted.  Heavy 
crops  of  corn  are  raised  on  low,  damp  lands,  and  even 
on  high  uplands  after  a  winter  of  sufficient  rain;  but 
corn  cannot  be  exported  at  a  profit,  and,  like  barley 
and  hay,  must  be  fed  up  at  home  to  stock.  All  kinds 
of  vegetables  and  garden  stuff  can  now  be  raised  in 
great  abundance  and  perfection  with  water,  but  there 
is  little  profit  in  competition  with  the  Chinese  and 
Italians,  who  live  cheap  and  are  not  afraid  of  the  hoe 
and  the  spade,  or  of  anything  that  cannot  be  ridden. 

And  does  production  pay  ? 

Emigration  documents  give  but  one  answer  to  this 
question.     It  is   scarcely  necessary  now  to  warn  any 


PRODUCTION.  IQ7 

intelligent  reader  against  the  standard  "  ten  acre*  is 
a  competency"  article  so  common  in  all  these  docu- 
ments, in  which  expenses  and  income  are  figured  up 
with  a  handsome  net  profit,  which  shows  that  one 
could  soon  be  a  millionaire  by  the  simple  process  of 
extending  his  acreage.  "Ten  acres  is  a  competency" 
to  make  a  failure  of.  We  even  have  those  still  among 
us  who  claim  to  have  been  sufficiently  amused  with 
five.  Such  figures  are  generally  true,  just  as  is  the 
story  of  sixty  bushels  of  wheat  to  the  acre.  But  they 
are  utterly  false  in  effect,  because,  in  general,  they 
represent  only  what  would  be  the  case  if  Nature  al- 
ways did  her  duty,  and  man  were  a  nice  little  angel 
fond  of  encouraging  merit  and  industry  by  paying  the 
highest  price  for  everything  he  buys,  and  asking  the 
lowest  for  his  labor  or  anything  he  has  to  sell. 

It  is  certain  that  fruit-culture  has  not  paid  in  the 
past,  except  in  a  few  cases  through  special  facilities  for 
supplying  local  markets.  It  is  equally  certain  that  it 
is  paying  now,  if  the  time,  money,  and  interest  spent  in 
working  out  the  problem  be  left  out  of  the  reckoning. 
It  is  equally  certain  that  it  will  continue  to  pay  in  an 
increasing  ratio,  and  will  never  cease  to  pay,  at  least, 
a  good  profit  over  current  expenses;  subject,  of  course, 
to  the  influence  of  distance  from  shipping-points,  and 
similar  things  that  would  affect  profits  anywhere.  In 
places  unusually  well  adapted  to  oranges,  raisins,  etc., 
with  good  shipping  facilities,  the  profits  are  now 
often  enormous,  especially  where  the  vines  and  trees 
have  reached  their  prime.  And  there  are  places  now 
where  twelve  or  fifteen  hundred  dollars  an  acre  for  a 


198  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

ten-year-old  orange  orchard  with  a  water  right  is  a 
very  cheap  investment,  though  one  must,  of  course, 
use  great  caution  about  finding  them. 

And  is  farming  profitable? 

This  is  discussed  elsewhere,  or  rather  facts  are 
given  from  which  one  may  draw  correct  conclusions. 
It  is  certain  that  the  old  style  of  farming  does  not, 
never  did,  and  never  will  pay.  It  is  equally  certain 
that  good,  careful,  close  farming,  such  as  pays  in  New 
York,  Pennsylvania,  or  New  England,  is  profitable 
here.  That  is,  it  is  profitable  just  as  it  is  there;  it 
produces  a  good,  comfortable  living,  with  an  occasional 
balance  in  bank,  but  in  the  long-run  little  more  than 
a  good  living  with  only  a  few  dollars  over  to  luxuriate 
on.  Nearly  all  the  farming,  even  in  the  best  of  the 
Western  States,  has  for  years  been  doing  no  more 
than  this.  Even  in  Minnesota,  since  the  falling-off  of 
the  high  prices  for  wheat,  immediately  following  the 
war,  the  farmers  in  the  very  best  parts  have  made  no 
more  than  a  bare  living,  and  many  have  failed  to  do 
even  that.  It  is  idle,  at  this  day,  to  expect  to  make 
much  money  out  of  farming  anywhere,  except  where 
new  land  may  yet  be  had  at  government  prices.  All 
the  advantages  over  other  lands  that  California  offers 
to  mere  farmers  are  in  the  way  of  comfort  and  ease, 
and  freedom  from  climatic  annoyances. 


WILL    THE   CLIMATE   CUKE   ME?  1 99 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

WILL    THE    CLIMATE    CURE   ME  ? 

Before  answering  the  above  question  and  several 
others, — such  as,  How  is  your  climate  for  consump- 
tion ?  How  will  it  suit  my  case  ? — it  is  necessary  to 
ask,  What  do  you  expect  ?  What  do  you  know  about 
climates  in  general  ?  What  do  you  believe  to  be  the 
effect  of  the  best  climate  imaginable  upon  affections 
of  the  throat  or  lungs  ?  Only  when  such  questions 
are  intelligently  answered,  can  an  honest  answer  be 
given.  An  honest  answer  about  any  country  or  climate 
on  earth  can  never  be  satisfactory  to  the  majority  of 
invalids,  for  there  is  no  sanitarium  or  health-resort 
where  people  do  not,  intentionally  or  unintentionally, 
hold  out  to  the  invalid  delusive  hopes  upon  this  point. 

The  invalid  in  search  of  climate  is  generally  a  per- 
son who,  previous  to  losing  health,  has  never  given  a 
thought  to  the  subject  of  climates.  He  often  does 
not  know  whether  the  annual  rainfall  at  his  home  is 
ten  inches  or  fifty,  whether  it  takes  one  inch  or  a 
dozen  to  make  a  heavy  storm,  or  whether  it  needs 
three  inches  or  thirty  to  raise  a  crop.  He  has  per- 
haps lived  for  years  in  some  of  the  severest  climates 
of  the  East  without  ever  thinking  or  caring  about  such 
things.     Failing  in  health  from  overwork,  overworry, 


20O  SOUTHERN   CALIFORNIA. 

dissipation,  hereditary  tendency,  carelessness,  or  some 
other  cause  with  which  the  climate  may  have  little  or 
nothing  to  do,  he  thinks  of  a  change  only  when  doc- 
tors' prescriptions,  patent  medicines,  nostrums,  nat- 
ural healers,  and  electric  belts  have  failed.  Or 
perhaps  he  is  a  man  of  good  sense  whose  physician 
has  early  advised  a  change,  but  who  lingers  to  finish 
up  some  business  or  to  stay  a  little  longer  with  his 
family.  Or  it  may  be  that  both  he  and  his  physician 
have  little  hope,  yet  think  the  last  chance  worthy  of 
trial.  In  any  event,  he  comes  with  rampant  hope,  his 
fancy  picturing  a  land  of  dry,  warm  air  with  ever  blue 
skies.  Of  course,  there  will  be  no  cool  winds,  in  fact, 
no  winds  of  any  sort  but  such  as  are  pleasant  to  his 
fevered  cheek;  no  damp  air,  no  fogs,  no  cold  nights. 
The  land  must,  however,  flow  with  milk  and  honey,  that 
he  may  be  well  fed  and  have  such  change  of  diet  as 
the  caprice  of  his  feeble  appetite  demands.  Espe- 
cially must  he  have  cream  and  plenty  of  milk  to 
drink,  with  good  butter  galore,  and  a  due  variety  of 
meats, — juicy,  tender,  and  nutritious,  of  course.  At 
the  same  time,  a  full  line  of  fresh  vegetables  and  fruits 
is  needed  to  keep  his  "liver  in  order."  Eggs,  fresh 
fish,  and  other  "  brain-food  "  are  also  valuable.  They 
"  act  upon  the  nervous  system"  and  "restore  vitality." 
There  must  also  be  "life"  and  business,  and  plenty  of 
society,  that  he  may  find  amusement  and  not  suffer 
from  ennui;  first-rate  hotels  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 
something  to  see  when  he  walks  or  rides. 

Thus  laden  with  notions,  and  perhaps  with  the  non- 
sense some  goose  of  a  friend  here  has  written  him 


WILL    THE   CLIMATE   CUKE   ME?  201 

about  his  special  "  regular  little  Paradise,"  he  starts 
for  Southern  California.  He  goes  to  it  as  to  some 
highly-praised  doctor,  a  specialist  whom  he  makes  a 
long  journey  to  see,  paying  in  advance  a  large  fee  in 
the  shape  of  a  railroad-ticket,  loss  of  home  comforts, 
and  other  privations.  Is  it  not  natural  that  he  should 
expect  immediate  benefits  in  return  for  such  a  fee  ? 
What  right  has  such  a  doctor  to  be  anything  but  soft 
and  gentle?  What  right  has  he  to  neglect  such  a 
patient  to  attend  to  the  sufferings  of  a  lot  of  farmers 
and  gardeners  ?     He  lands  in  California  and — 

"Gracious  heavens!!  Who  could  have  thought 
it?" 

He  looks  again  to  be  sure. 

"  Yes  !     It  is  too  true.     //  is  raining  !  " 

Now,  who  would  believe  that  that  man  took  the 
train  next  day  for  home  ?  Yet,  incredible  as  it  seems, 
it  is  precisely  what  hundreds  have  done.  People  have 
actually  entered  San  Diego  Bay  in  the  morning,  in- 
tending to  spend  the  winter,  and  left  for  home  the 
same  evening  without  getting  off  the  steamer,  simply 
because  it  was  raining.  Others  fly  from  Los  Angeles 
to  Santa  Barbara,  expecting  to  find  it  drier  farther 
north,  and,  reaching  there  before  the  storm  has  finished, 
leave  for  some  other  place.  Perhaps  they  reach  an- 
other place  when  it  has  cleared  up,  and  clear,  warm 
days  appear  again  for  six  weeks  or  more.  And  then, 
Aha  !  how  delightful  the  new  place,  and  how  exe- 
crable the  other  !  (perhaps  not  fifty  miles  away  in  an 
air-line,  and  having  then  the  same  clear  weather.)  In 
a  few  weeks  it  rains  again,  and  then  the  whole  coun- 
9* 


202  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

try  is  a  fraud;  they  have  been  grossly  deceived,  and 
the  climate  is  not,  in  fact,  as  good  as  the  one  they  left 
(on  the  shores  of  Lake  Michigan,  or  in  New  England 
perhaps).  That  the  new  grass  started  by  the  other 
rain  is  turning  brown;  that  thousands  are  praying  for 
rain;  that  the  records  of  the  U.S.  Signal  Station  show 
the  yearly  rainfall  to  be  the  very  lowest  possible  for 
any  land  inhabitable  by  comfort  and  culture  is  noth- 
ing. The  fact  that  they  staid  at  home  all  through  the 
rainy  summer  and  fall  without  a  murmur,  waited  too 
until  the  rains  had  turned  into  snow  and  sleet,  when 
they  might  here  have  had  all  the  dry,  warm  sunshine 
they  wanted, — all  this  is  nothing.  They  came  for  fine 
weather,  and  they  want  it,  pure  and  unadulterated. 
A  child  ought  to  have  some  idea  of  the  amount  of 
rain  necessary  to  make  a  country  comfortably  inhab- 
itable. But  they  did  not  come  here  to  think,  but  to 
be  cured;  not  to  examine  records,  but  to  enjoy  fine 
weather.  And,  above  all,  they  did  not  come  to  have 
their  misery  insulted  by  being  told  that  it  is  a  good 
thing  for  the  farmers  and  fruit-growers. 

Such  persons  should  stay  at  home  and  die  in  com- 
fort, instead  of  making  themselves  miserable  by  search- 
ing for  what  they  never  will  find  on  this  earth — the 
invalid's  ideal  climate.  Especially  should  they  avoid 
California.  It  is  a  land  where  people  not  only  raise 
all  they  eat  and  have  plenty  left  to  sell,  but  where 
they  raise  the  greatest  variety  and  in  the  greatest  per- 
fection. It  gets  along  with  less  rain  than  any  other 
inhabitable  part  of  the  United  States,  but  must  have 
some  every  year,  and  at  least  once  in  two  years  needs 


WILL   THE    CLIMATE  CURE  ME?  203 

as  good  a  wetting  as  every  Eastern  State  generally 
gets  every  spring.  Before  such  an  invalid  tries  Italy, 
let  him  read  what  Hawthorne,  in  "The  Marble 
Faun,"  says  of  winter  there.  Before  trying  Mentone, 
Southern  Spain,  France,  or  Algeria,  let  him  read  what 
Dr.  Bennett  (a  London  physician  who,  for  his  own 
health,  tried  all  the  climates  of  Europe  and  Northern 
Africa)  says  of  them  in  his  extensive  work  on  climate. 
He  will  find  himself  well  described. 

"Instead  of  bracing  autumn  they  expect  flowery 
spring  and  fly  disappointed  from  place  to  place,  vainly 
seeking  for  summer  in  the  middle  of  winter — a  thing 
that  really  does  not  exist  outside  of  the  tropics." 

The  truth  is,  that  false  ideas  of  climate  not  only 
spring  from  the  invalid's  imagination,  but  are  propa- 
gated— often  with  the  best  intentions — by  others.  It  is 
probable  that  none  of  the  celebrated  climates  are  near 
the  commonly  received  opinions  of  them.  Rainfalls 
occasionally  even  in  "rainless  Egypt."  Frost  forms 
in  places  even  on  the  great  Sahara  and  on  the  Upper 
Nile;  and  any  one  should  know  that  from  the  great 
snowy  mountains  that  guard  the  Mediterranean  on 
the  north  cold  winds  must  sometimes  come. 

"The  finest  climate  in  the  world."  "Never  above 
8o°,  never  below  6o°."  How  often  have  we  seen  these 
statements — which  can  be  traced  back  to  Humboldt, 
and  are  free  from  any  suspicion  of  advertising — about 
the  City  of  Mexico  !  The  elevation  alone,  7500  feet 
above  the  sea,  should  teach  any  one  better,  even  if  he 
had  never  seen  the  great  fields  of  snow  on  Popocate- 
petl and  his  twin  sister.     Official   records  of   the  ol>- 


204  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

servatory  there  show  that  the  temperature  falls  below 
freezing  almost  every  month  in  the  winter,  and  has 
gone  as  low  as  200  Fahrenheit,  though  the  days  suc- 
ceeding are  warm.  Frosty  mornings  with  warm 
days,  for  a  week  or  two  at  a  time,  are  a  matter  of 
course  every  winter.  One  of  Prescott's  annotators 
criticises  him  for  saying  that  Cortes  landed  one  time 
in  a  fog,  adding,  "  Such  a  thing  as  a  fog  in  the  valley 
of  Mexico  is  impossible."  Possibly  the  present  writer 
is  not  a  judge  of  fogs,  but  he  has  seen  there,  for  a 
week  or  ten  days  in  succession,  hanging  over  the  city 
until  eleven  or  twelve  o'clock  in  the  day,  something 
that  would  pass  for  a  fog  in  New  York,  and  might  be 
mistaken  for  one  even  in  London.  The  climate  of  the 
City  of  Mexico  is  indeed  a  fine  one,  but  there  can  be 
no  part  of  the  world  where  some  defects  are  not  found 
in  the  climate,  and  it  is  quite  impossible  to  avoid  one 
fault  without  encountering  another.  Thus,  damp  air 
cannot  be  escaped  without  getting  a  greater  radiation 
of  heat  from  the  earth.  Just  as  surely  as  a  cloudy 
night  remains  warmer  than  a  clear  one,  just  so  surely 
does  invisible  moisture  in  the  air  retain  the  heat  of 
the  earth  by  checking  the  radiation,  and  just  so  surely 
does  its  absence  increase  the  rapidity  with  which  the 
earth  loses  heat.  Hence  a  greater  difference  between 
sunshine  and  shade,  and  between  day  and  night,  espe- 
cially in  the  short  days  and  long  nights  of  winter; 
when  in  the  temperate  zone  the  earth  receives  little 
heat,  and  has  several  hours  more  than  in  summer  in 
which  to  lose  it.  Cold  nights  are  the  price  that  must 
be  paid   for  dry  air   the  world    over.     It  cannot  be 


WILL   THE    CLIMATE  CURE   ME?  205 

otherwise,  except  from  some  limited  and  local  cause, 
such  as  a  current  or  stratum  of  warm  air  at  a  partic- 
ular elevation  above  the  bottom  of  a  valley  or  on  a 
hill-side,  or  something  of  that  nature.  Much  increase 
of  elevation  above  the  sea  only  increases  this  effect  by 
lifting  one  into  thinner  air.  And  all  grand  mountain 
scenery  is  quite  likely  to  turn  white  in  winter,  even 
far  down  in  the  tropics.  And  that  will  often  make 
still  colder  nights,  frosty  mornings,  and  even  cause 
chilly  winds  by  day.  Such  effects  can  be  escaped  only 
by  getting  into  damp  air,  or  air  where  the  loss  of 
heat  from  the  earth  at  night  by  radiation  is  partly 
compensated  for  by  some  large  body  of  water  near  by 
— on  a  sea  island  or  the  seashore.  But  in  the  temper- 
ate zone  at  least  there  are  few  or  no  such  places  that 
do  not  have  rain  and  occasional  fogs,  and  in  the 
tropics  the  chances  incline  towards  malaria,  insect 
pests,  and  other  troubles. 

Any  one  who  will  study  the  conditions  upon  which 
all  climatic  effects  depend  will  find  that  the  ideal  cli- 
mate of  the  invalid  exists  nowhere  on  this  earth,  and 
that  if  it  did,  no  one  could  live  there  without  import- 
ing about  everything  to  eat  or  drink.  One  must  con- 
sider what  is  obtainable,  and  not  what  is  desirable, — 
obtainable  in  the  temperate  zone  and  under  good  gov- 
ernment. Neither  cold  nights  nor  occasional  rain  or 
dampness  injure  the  invald  one  tenth  as  much  as  he 
imagines.  If  they  do  hurt  him,  it  is  pretty  sure  proof 
that  he  is  beyond  the  help  of  climate.  Had  he  staid 
at  home  wintering  in-doors,  he  would  hardly  have 
noticed   the  change   of  weather  outside.     He  mav  be 


206  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

steadily  failing,  but  not  because  it  rained  a  few  days  or 
because  a  fog  rolled  in  in  the  night,  to  roll  out  again 
before  he  was  up  in  the  morning,  or  because  of  a  hoar- 
frost that  was  gone  before  he  could  see  it.  There  is 
some  bad  weather  here,  of  course;  but  it  is  bad  only  by 
contrast  with  the  long  train  of  soft  and  brilliant  days. 
If  there  is  a  frost,  it  is  because  the  night  was  clear,  for 
it  is  only  on  clear  nights  that  the  thermometer  here 
can  ever  fall  low  enough  for  frost.  In  such  case  the  day 
is  sure  to  be  clear,  and  the  sunlight  falling  through 
the  dry  air  quickly  heats  it  to  a  comfortable  point. 
What  few  fogs  there  are  come  in  from  the  sea  at 
evening,  roll  out  at  sunrise,  and  are  nearly  always 
followed  by  a  clear  warm  day.  And  if  in  fall  or 
early  winter  the  winds  from  the  desert  are  sometimes 
too  strong  for  comfort,  they  are  always  dry,  invariably 
above  550  in  temperature,  and  there  are  places  enough 
where  they  are  hardly  ever  felt. 

The  general  character  of  the  seasons  has  been  con- 
sidered elsewhere.  In  addition  one  may  judge  from  the 
formation  of  the  country  that  it  is  a  land  of  different 
climates,  where  almost  any  kind  but  the  very  damp 
or  very  cold  may  be  found  in  a  few  hours'  travel. 

The  great  advantage  of  the  Southern  California 
climate  is,  that  instead  of  being  a  place  to  flee  from 
at  the  coming  of  warm  weather,  it  is  the  very  place 
of  all  the  world  where  the  invalid  should  stay.  There 
are  places  enough  in  Mexico  that  can  equal  its  best 
winters  and  excel  its  worst  ones;  but  probably  no 
land  on  earth  can  equal  the  comfort  to  be  found  in 
its  summers  by  one  who   has  nothing  to  do   but  to 


WILL   THE   CLIMATE  CUKE   ME?  207 

seek  comfort.  The  mistake  made  by  nearly  all  inva- 
lids is  the  assumption  that  there  is  no  need  of  coming 
here  before  winter;  that  because  the  winters  are  warm 
the  summer  is  unpleasantly  hot,  malarious,  and  full 
of  insects;  that,  as  in  Florida,  winter  is  the  only 
thing  worth  going  for,  and  that  when  it  is  over  the 
proper  thing  is  to  leave  at  once  for  the  North.  If  an 
invalid  is  to  receive  any  benefit  of  consequence  it  is 
probably  the  summer  that  will  do  it,  and  perhaps  the 
summer  only.  And  one  can  scarcely  commit  a  greater 
folly  than  to  return  at  its  commencement  to  the  land 
where  ill-health  began.  By  such  folly  the  whole  career 
of  the  writer  has  been  reversed;  by  such  folly  hun- 
dreds, who,  like  him,  heeded  not  the  warning  and  mis- 
took the  beginning  of  a  cure  for  recovery,  have  lost 
their  lives.  The  number  of  people  here  who  were  once 
invalids,  but  who  now  appear  as  well  as  any  one,  is 
very  great;  but  nearly  all  are  people  who  have  never 
attempted  to  return  to  their  old  homes,  people  whom 
the  summer  has  helped  far  more  than  the  winter. 

To  the  general  question,  Does  the  climate  cure  dis- 
eases of  the  throat  and  lungs?  it  is  common  to  reply 
with  instances  of  Mr.  A,  who  came  here  on  a  stretcher 
and  has  gained  so  many  pounds;  Mr.  B,  who  couldn't 
stand  up;  Mr.  C,  who  couldn't  speak  above  a  whisper, 
etc.,  etc.  All  this  seems  foolish  talk,  for  change  of 
scene  and  occupation,  with  amusement  or  rest,  are 
constantly  producing  such  effects  without  any  change 
of  climate,  and  are  the  main  basis  of  the  reputation  of 
the  water-cure  establishments  and  other  places  where 
patients  recover  in  spite  of  slow  starvation  with  water 


208  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

and  bran.  All  talk  about  ozone,  electricity,  and  such 
things  in  the  air  seems  equally  foolish.  There  is, 
probably,  no  positive  agent  in  the  air  here  that  is  not 
equally  effective  in  Boston  or  Milwaukee.  The  inva- 
lid generally  looks  upon  consumption  as  a  sort  of  sore 
upon  the  lungs,  to  be  cured  like  a  burn,  by  some 
emollient  medicine,  and  thinks  that  all  he  has  to  do  is 
to  sit  down  and  inhale  the  remedy.  Many  such  do 
indeed  get  well,  but  it  is  because  they  were  but  lightly 
affected. 

The  truth  probably  is  that  climate  is  nowhere  a 
medicine,  but  only  a  condition  of  cure — often  an  indis- 
pensable one,  but  still  only  a  condition,  and  not  a  spe- 
cific. Where  bad  weather  aggravates  or  excites  a 
complaint,  like  catarrh,  and  throat  and  lung  diseases 
arising  from  its  extension,  a  climate  having  little  or 
no  bad  weather  may,  by  the  removal  of  irritating 
causes,  appear  to  cure  them.  Such  cure  may  be 
actual,  but  is  also  liable  to  be,  for  a  long  while  at 
least,  only  apparent.  But  time  and  increase  of  vitality 
by  building  up  the  general  strength  are  the  only  true 
reliance  for  any  permanent  cure,  even  if  it  is  only  a 
partial  cure.  If  any  one  is  so  far  gone  with  consump- 
tion that  he  can  merely  sit  down  in  a  hotel  and  keep 
up  strength  with  tonics  until  the  air  can  cure  him,  he 
had  better  remain  at  home.  No  part  of  the  world 
can  offer  him  much  hope. 

Far  different  is  it  for  one  with  sufficient  strength, 
especially  if  one  of  those  fortunate  mortals  who  are  not 
lost  the  moment  they  step  beyond  the  limits  of  a  city. 
Give  such  a  person  a  land  where  he  can  spend  out  of 


WILL    THE    CLIMATE  CURE   ME?  20<j 

doors  the  whole  of  three  hundred  and  thirty  days  in 
a  year,  and  nearly  one  half  of  the  rest  where  i  very 
prospect  pleases,  and  temptations  to  walk,  ride,  hunt, 
or  stroll  are  on  every  hand,  and  where  cold  and  damp- 
ness are  reduced  to  a  minimum,  while  malaria  is  en- 
tirely wanting;  where  dry  air  increases  his  appetite, 
and  in  summer  makes  the  cool  nights  that  give  him 
sound  sleep;  and  let  him  make  up  his  mind  to  stay  at 
least  a  year,  and  the  chances  are  a  hundred  to  one 
that  he  will  recover  if  he  makes  half  a  use  of  such  ad- 
vantages. He  may  not  recover  so  that  he  could  with 
safety  return  to  his  old  home  and  resume  his  former 
business,  but  he  may  recover  so  that  he  could  enjoy  a 
long  life  here,  and  perhaps  anywhere,  by  taking  < 
of  himself  and  keeping  up  his  general  strength.  But 
did  the  climate  cure  him?  Or  did  it  merely  furnish 
the  conditions  under  which  a  man  of  sense  could  cure 
himself? 

Ennui  is  the  great  foe  of  the  invalid  at  a  sani- 
tarium. He  needs  something  besides  dry,  warm  air, 
something  to  attract  him  from  the  hotel  veranda  or 
the  billiard-room.  The  "sunbath"  on  the  porch  will 
help  his  appetite  but  little,  and  the  tumbler  of  cream 
upon  which  he  places  so  much  reliance  will  not  take 
the  place  of  the  beef  he  might  have  eaten  had  he 
spent  two  or  three  hours  among  the  hills  with  his  gun 
or  ridden  a  few  miles  among  the  orange-groves,  vine- 
yards, and  gardens. 

No  climate  offers  any  positive  medicine  that  can  be 
honestly  recommended.  But  that  of  California  offers 
a  freedom  from    exciting   or   aggravating   causes    of 


2IO  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

disease,  combined  with  a  set  of  conditions  of  cure,  that 
no  other  inhabitable  land,  taken  the  year  round,  can 
offer.  An  important  feature  of  the  climate  is  its  health- 
fulness  for  children.  An  unclean  town  may,  of  course, 
aggravate  diphtheria  or  other  complaints  here  as  well 
as  elsewhere.  But,  aside  from  local  causes,  children's 
diseases  are  much  rarer  and  milder  than  in  the  East. 
Dysentery  and  cholera-infantum  are  very  rare,  while 
the  "second  summer,"  so  much  dreaded  by  parents 
in  the  East,  is  here  scarcely  different  from  any  other. 
The  effect  of  the  constant  out-of-door  life  is  not  nec- 
essary to  mention. 

Yellow-fever  has  never  made  a  lodgment  on  this 
coast,  though  ships  with  it  on  board  have  entered  the 
harbors.  It  could  never  spread  much  if  it  did,  and,  as 
it  never  lives  at  an  elevation  of  over  twenty-five  hun- 
dred feet,  could  be  easily  escaped.  The  effect  of  the 
climate  upon  bilious  complaints  is  quite  as  remarkable 
as  any  of  its  features.  All  through  the  East  are  large 
tracts  where  many  people  are  constantly  troubled 
with  "biliousness"  in  warm  weather,  though  no  inter- 
mittent fevers  or  ague  be  found.  One  would  sup- 
pose it  would  be  worse  in  this  Southern  climate.  Of 
course,  such  effects  may  be  produced  anywhere  by 
inaction  and  overeating  certain  articles  of  food.  But 
where  one  takes  any  amount  of  exercise  and  the 
slightest  care  with  diet,  it  seems  that  the  hot,  dry 
climates  are  the  healthiest.  Malaria  may  be  locally 
produced  by  excessive  irrigation  of  large  tracts,  but 
that  is  done  no  longer  in  the  South,  for  water  has 
become  too  valuable  to  waste.     The  complexions  of 


WILL  THE   CLIMATE   CUKE   ME?  211 

the  people  show  that  "  spring  physic"  is  but  a  memory 
of  the  East,  and  "blue  mass"  a  thing  we  once  heard 
of.  Calomel  is  used  only  to  keep  the  flies  out  of  sores 
on  live-stock,  and  quinine  only  as  a  tonic  by  invalids 
too  weak  to  stir  up  an  appetite  by  exercise  or  amuse- 
ment. 


212  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HINTS   ON    COMING    TO   CALIFORNIA. 

The  many  letters  received  by  residents  of  Southern 
California  from  Eastern  friends  asking  advice  about 
moving  to  California  make  it  certain  that  a  few  hints 
upon  that  subject  will  not  be  out  of  place. 

And  first,  why  do  you  wish  to  come  ?  To  better 
your  condition?  If  doing  well  where  you  are,  is  it 
wise  to  risk  transplantation  anywhere  ?  Is  not  stay 
where  you  are  doing  well  good  advice  the  world  over? 
If  you  are  not  doing  well  where  you  are,  it  must  be 
because  you  are  indolent,  ignorant,  or  unfortunate. 
You  must  fall  within  one  of  these  three  classes.  If 
too  indolent,  you  may  rest  assured  that  this  is  just 
now  the  last  place  to  live  without  work  or  money, 
though  one  may  certainly  exist  here  more  easily  than 
elsewhere  in  the  United  States.  If  ignorant  of  work, 
this  is  no  better  place  than  any  other  to  begin  learn- 
ing. If  your  failure  comes  from  ill-fortune,  other  than 
ill-health,  it  will  be  well  to  remember  that  while  Cali- 
fornia has  been  the  largest  "lucky-bag"  in  the  uni- 
verse, it  has  differed  from  others  only  in  the  size  and 
not  in  the  number  of  its  prizes. 

If  you  are  a  professional  man,  book-keeper,  or 
clerk,  you  may  possibly  do  as  well  here  as  in  the 
East,  where  all  avenues  to  a  living  are  now  thronged. 


HINTS  ON  COMING    TO   CALIFORNIA.  213 

There  are  plenty  of  openings,  and  always  will  be,  for 
the  honest,  energetic  workingman  with  a  fair  amount 
of  "gumption,"  who  will  make  his  employer's  inter- 
ests his  own.  The  Chinese  can  never  supply  the  large 
and  increasing  demand  for  such  men.  The  Chinese 
only  fill  the  place  of  the  man  who  drops  his  half-raised 
shovel  of  earth  back  into  the  hole  at  the  sound  of  the 
whistle  or  bell  rather  than  toss  it  out;  of  the  man 
whose  favorite  motto  is  that  "  it  is  as  cheap  to  play 
for  nothing  as  to  work  for  nothing,"  meaning  by 
"  nothing"  anything  less  than  the  very  highest  wages 
ever  paid;  of  the  man  who  saddles  his  horse  and 
starts  for  the  groggery  when  his  employer  starts  for 
town;  and  of  the  man  who  never  does  anything  except 
what  he  is  specially  told  to  do.  Such  are  the  majority 
of  the  white  men  whose  places  are  here  filled  with 
Chinamen,  because  the  Chinaman  is  no  meaner  than 
they  are,  and  is  much  cheaper.  But  no  one  considers 
a  Chinaman  half  a  substitute  for  a  reliable  white  man. 
It  is  common  to  answer  inquiries  about  govern- 
ment land  by  saying  that  "there  is  plenty  still  left," — 
an  answer  literally  true,  because  there  are  millions  of 
acres  of  it  left.  But  it  is  like  the  witches'  answer  to 
Macbeth, — keeping  the  word  of  promise  to  the  ear,  but 
breaking  it  to  the  hope.  Every  nook  and  corner  has 
long  been  explored  for  arable  public  land,  and  about 
everything  that  a  new-comer  would  naturally  expect 
to  find  has  long  been  taken.  If  the  records  of  the 
Land  Office  show  many  new  entries,  it  is  because  peo- 
ple are  now  taking  eighty-acre  tracts  to  get  perhaps 
ten  acres  of  arable  land,  and  one  hundred  and  sixty 


214  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

to  get  fifteen.  This  may  still  be  done,  but  is  not  what 
an  Eastern  person  understands  by  "getting  govern- 
ment land." 

Plenty  of  cheap  land,  however,  remains,  and  of  as 
good  quality  as  the  highest-priced.  The  Southern 
Pacific  Railroad  still  has  considerable,  and  there  are 
many  large  ranches  that  may  be  had  cheap  by  taking 
the  whole.  But  by  cheap  I  do  not  mean  cheap  as  that 
term  would  be  understood  anywhere  east  of  the  Col- 
orado River, — cheap  for  raising  grain,  stock,  or  for 
general  farming.  It  is  cheap  only  for  the  purpose  to 
which  the  lands  of  Southern  California  are  fast  being 
devoted, — the  raising  of  choice  fruits  that  cannot  be 
grown  in  other  States  of  the  Union,  and  the  making 
of  comfortable  homes  by  people  of  means  who  are 
weary  of  the  long  siege  of  the  elements  elsewhere. 
It  is  quite  useless  for  you  to  quarrel  with  these  prices, 
to  call  them  "fancy"  and  not  intrinsic  values,  and  to 
declare  the  true  value  of  land  to  be  the  principal  of 
the  interest  that  can  be  made  out  of  it.  We  know  all 
that,  and  long  since  talked  the  same.  But  the  best 
lands  of  Southern  California,  especially  those  capable 
of  irrigation,  are  as  much  an  exception  to  the  general 
criterion  of  values  as  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  or  the 
rolling  hills  of  Staten  Island.  Their  prices  may  be 
based  upon  a  false  foundation, — to  wit,  climate, 
scenery,  and  general  comfort.  Nevertheless,  people 
pay  them.  This  has  been  going  on  for  years,  and  is 
constantly  on  the  increase.  Year  after  year  rapidly 
increases  the  number  of  those  anxious  to  buy  and 
improve.     Who  dare  say  when  this  will  stop?     That 


HINTS  ON  COMING    TO   CALIFORNIA.  215 

lands  are  in  many  places  too  high,  even  if  judged  by 
this  standard,  in  no  way  affects  the  correctness  of  the 
standard  itself  as  compared  with  the  common  stand- 
ard of  Eastern  farming-lands. 

So  steady  in  its  advance  has  this  demand  been  for 
years  that  the  shrewdest  and  wealthiest  business- 
men— men  familiar  with  Florida  and  all  the  pleasure 
resorts  of  America — consider  it  a  certain  basis  of  cal- 
culation. In  no  other  part  of  the  world  equally  remote 
from  great  commercial  centers,  and  equally  unknown, 
would  such  a  development  scheme  be  even  thought 
of  as  is  now  in  full  headway  on  Coronado  Beach,  the 
peninsula  that  forms  the  harbor  of  San  Diego.  Its 
winters  are  warmer  than  those  of  Florida,  yet  its  sum- 
mers are  cooler  than  those  of  the  coast  of  New  Eng- 
land. Lashed  on  one  side  by  the  long  rollers  of  the 
Pacific,  and  commanding  a  delightful — a  marvelous 
— view  of  ocean,  islands,  promontories,  table -land, 
and  lofty  mountains,  it  contains  nearly  three  thou- 
sand acres  of  fine  land,  lying  in  almost  perfect  shape 
to  cut  into  a  thousand  gardens  where  tropic  fruits 
will  bloom,  that  the  frost  might  nip  on  much  of  the 
mainland,  yet  where  all  the  flora  of  the  temperate 
zone  will  also  be  at  home.  It  has  long  been  known 
that  this  would  one  day  make  the  rarest  watering- 
place  in  the  world.  But  when  ?  This  year  one  hun- 
dred and  ten  thousand  dollars  were  paid  for  it  in 
its  native  State,  and  three  times  as  much  is  being 
spent  upon  it  before  a  lot  is  offered  for  sale.  A 
steam-ferry,  street-railroad,  telephone,  hotel,  bath- 
houses, artesian-well,  fountains,   avenues,  parks,  and 


2l6  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

streets  all  planted  with  every  rare  tree,  shrub,  and 
flower  that  can  be  grown  in  the  United  States,  are 
under  way  to  be  completed  before  the  public  is  to  be 
invited  to  buy.  And  all  this  is  being  done  by  men 
who  know  exactly  what  they  are  about.  As  long  as 
men  will  do  such  things  there  is  little  hope  of  buying 
land  anywhere  within  easy  reach  of  market  at  what 
you  would  consider  cheap  prices.  Call  it  foolish  if 
you  choose;  but  it  is  a  kind  of  folly  that  is  quite  cer- 
tain to  continue.  Therefore  let  no  one  delude  you 
with  talk  about  government  land  or  any  good  land 
at  anything  near  government  prices.  The  good  lands 
of  Southern  California  are  high,  but  it  is  simply  be- 
cause they  deserve  to  be. 

Scarce  any  one  from  east  of  the  Sierras  knows  any- 
thing about  the  lands  of  Southern  California  or  their 
management,  no  matter  what  he  may  know  of  farm- 
ing or  gardening  elsewhere.  Unless  one  lays  aside 
all  conceit,  and  learns  anew  from  those  who  have 
learned  here,  one  may  meet  not  only  vexation,  but 
loss.  The  only  valuable  result  of  Eastern  experience, 
that  good  plowing  and  thorough  and  constant  culti- 
vation will  improve  almost  anything,  no  matter  how 
well  it  may  do  without  them,  is  the  only  part  which  is 
generally  left  behind;  most  people  coming  here  to 
avoid  such  work,  and  to  farm  with  ease.  This  experi- 
ence you  may  safely  apply  here,  but  beware  how  you 
cling  too  fondly  to  any  other  maxims  of  farming. 

At  every  place  you  will  find  plenty  of  philanthro- 
pists who  will  solemnly  warn  you  against  risking 
health,  happiness,  money,  and  eternal  welfare  by  go- 


HINTS  ON  COMING    TO   CALIFORNIA.  2\y 

ing  to  see  the  next  place.  As  a  rule  it  will  be  worth 
your  while  to  go  to  that  next  place  just  to  see  h<>w 
people  can  distort  and  falsify,  if  for  nothing  else. 
Every  place  or  section  has  also  a  monopoly  of  some- 
thing good,  some  peculiar  chemical  element  in  tin- 
soil,  or  special  formation  of  the  subsoil  or  climate,  or 
something  which  no  other  place  has,  and  which  is 
indispensable  to  a  respectable  raisin  or  wine-grape, 
orange  or  lemon,  or  something  else.  Numerous 
places  will  have  a  hard  pan  below  the  soil.  At  the 
place  where  you  happen  to  be  it  will  be  at  just  the 
proper  distance  below  the  surface  to  catch  and  retain 
the  winter  rainfall;  and  "no  irrigation  required"  will 
be  the  leading  attraction  in  every  real-estate  adver- 
tisement and  circular.  But  you  will  also  learn  that 
the  next  place  has  it  so  near  the  top  that  they  can 
barely  plow;  it  all  dries  out  at  once,  and  "  they  can't 
raise  anything  there  without  irrigation." 

All  this,  of  course,  is  pure  nonsense.  Every  part 
of  the  land  that  is  easily  accessible  is  well  worth  see- 
ing, and,  if  you  think  of  settling,  is  worthy  of  exami- 
nation. With  a  few  rare  exceptions,  good  things  can 
be  raised  in  abundance  all  over.  Nearly  everywhere 
considerable  produce  can  be  raised  without  irrigation, 
and  almost  nowhere  is  that  used  for  grain.  Yet  no- 
where can  you  find  a  man  who  will  not  prefer  ten 
acres  with  a  stream  of  water  to  fifty  without  it,  if  he 
has  to  earn  his  living  from  the  soil,  or  if  he  wants  to 
make  a  very  profitable  or  at  all  handsome  place.  It 
is  about  the  same  with  climate.  Every  county  con- 
tains a  variety,  and  every  one  contains  good  climates, 
io 


2l8  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

— good  enough  for  almost  any  one.  Every  county, 
too,  contains  belts  of  heavy  and  reliable  rainfall,  and 
all  are  abundantly  supplied  with  good  scenery,  hunt- 
ing, drives,  and  out-of-door  attractions.  All  have  fair 
hotels  and  traveling  facilities  and  accommodations. 
Some  are,  of  course,  better  in  some  respects  than 
others;  but  believe  nobody  who  tells  you  there  is 
nothing  to  see  or  nothing  of  consequence  elsewhere. 

Los  Angeles  County  has  the  great  advantage  of 
having  the  greater  part  of  its  good  land  very  nearly 
in  a  body,  easily  reached  by  sea  or  land,  with  plenty 
of  water  in  its  rivers  easily  taken  out.  This  caused 
its  development  far  in  advance  of  many  other  sec- 
tions, and  made  its  county  seat  a  railroad  and  busi- 
ness center,  which  it  is  ridiculous  for  any  other  place 
now  to  think  of  excelling,  or  even  equaling  very 
soon.  It  is,  and  always  will  be,  the  leading  county 
of  the  South,  but  is  not,  as  many  of  its  inhabitants 
fondly  imagine,  all  there  is  of  the  South. 

It  is  much  the  same  with  San  Bernandino  County, 
though  on  a  much  smaller  scale.  Most  of  its  tracts 
of  good  land  lie  quite  near  together,  are  easily 
traversed,  and  nearly  all  well  watered  with  ditches 
and  artesian-wells.  Its  best  parts  are  also  traversed 
by  railroads. 

With  San  Diego  County  it  is  quite  the  reverse.  The 
arable  land,  which  is  equal  to  any  in  the  South,  is 
scattered  in  a  thousand  valleys,  slopes,  table-lands, 
and  low  rolling  hills,  over  a  region  one  hundred  miles 
long  and  fifty  wide,  the  best  parts  of  which  lie  away 
from  the  railroad  and  sea-coast,  and  can  be  seen  only 


HINTS  ON  COMING   TO   CALIFORNIA.         2  19 

by  climbing  several  mountains  or  taking  an  excursion 
of  many  days  by  wagon  with  a  fast  team.  Though 
it  contains  irrigation  possibilities  of  a  high  order, 
they  are  much  more  expensive  to  develop  than  those 
of  Los  Angeles  and  San  Bernardino  counties,  and  in 
its  past  state  of  isolation  from  the  world  the  lands 
would  not  justify  the  expense.  It  has,  however,  ten 
times  the  amount  of  good  arable  land,  elevated  into 
a  belt  of  certain  and  abundant  rains,  of  both  those 
counties  together,  having  a  large  belt  not  over  fifteen 
hundred  feet  above  tide  water,  where  full  crops  never 
fail  for  want  of  rain.  Nearly  every  one  judges  San 
Diego  County  by  the  unirrigated  lands  around  the 
bay;  and  the  percentage  of  visitors  who,  after  half  a 
day's  drive  around  the  bay,  coolly  pass  judgment  on 
a  whole  county  larger  than  Massachusetts,  Connecti- 
cut, and  Rhode  Island  combined,  would  be  an  inter- 
esting item  for  those  optimists  who  claim  that  the 
human  race  is  increasing  in  intelligence.  Of  late 
San  Diego  County  has  come  to  the  front  with  a 
bound,  its  long  isolation  being  broken  by  the  com- 
pletion of  the  great  Atchison,  Topeka,  and  Santa  Fe 
system  to  San  Diego  Bay;  it  will  yet  stand  next  to 
Los  Angeles  County  as  the  largest  producing  section, 
and  probably  ahead  of  it  in  the  quality  of  its  fruits. 
The  raisins  of  El  Cajon,  and  the  oranges  of  National 
Ranch,  the  Sweetwater,  and  vicinity,  have  this  year 
surprised  the  experts  of  San  Francisco,  and  are  but 
samples  of  what  can  be  done  on  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  acres.  The  work  of  taking  out  one  of  its 
largest  rivers    has    already  commenced,   and  a  few 


220  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

years  will  see  a  great  change  in  the  now  dry  lands 
around  the  bay  of  San  Diego,  which  are  by  far  the' 
richest,  warmest,  and  most  picturesque  of  all  the 
table-lands  of  the  South. 

The  counties  of  Ventura  and  Santa  Barbara  are  in 
much  the  same  situation  as  San  Diego,  having  large 
quantities  of  excellent  land  scattered  in  all  manner  of 
shapes,  much  of  it  irrigable  in  some  way  or  another, 
much  of  it  yielding  many  things  quite  well  without 
any  irrigation.  Like  the  interior  of  San  Diego  County, 
they  afford  about  the  best  opportunities  remaining 
for  men  of  moderate  means,  who  want  a  good  home 
in  Southern  California,  and  do  not  object  to  a  little 
isolation.  Like  San  Diego  County,  they  are  also 
charming  places  for  hunting  and  camping,  being  like 
it,  yet  unspoiled  by  development;  while  the  fishing  is 
even  better  than  that  of  Los  Angeles  or  San  Ber- 
nardino Counties,  the  mountains  being  farther  from 
market  than  those  of  the  latter  counties.  The  high 
mountains  of  Kern,  Ventura,  Santa  Barbara,  and  Los 
Angeles  Counties  contain  the  best  hunting  now  to  be 
found  in  the  South,  even  grizzly  bears  and  mountain 
sheep  being  still  found  there. 

The  valley  of  the  San  Joaquin,  like  San  Luis  Obispo 
County,  though  in  the  Southern  half  of  California,  is 
not  now  included  in  the  term  "  Southern  California" 
as  it  is  generally  used  here.  But  that  valley  has  some 
great  advantages  in  the  way  of  cheap  and  abundant 
water  in  the  streams  from  the  great  Sierra  Nevada. 
These  are  being  developed  on  stupendous  scales, 
single  ditches  carrying  as  much  as  all  those  of  Los 
Angeles  County.     There  is  also  plenty  of  very  rich 


HINTS  ON  COMING   TO   CALIFORNIA,         221 

land  upon  which  to  put  it,  and  the  irrigated  settle- 
ments of  the  San  Joaquin  are  probably  the  most  pro- 
ductive tracts  of  land  in  the  world.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  rainfall  is  so  much  lighter  and  the  air  so 
much  drier  than  in  the  more  southern  counties  that 
the  very  best  land  outside  of  the  ditches  is  too  unre- 
liable for  making  either  pleasant  or  profitable  homes. 
Its  distance  from  the  sea,  and  its  high  mountain  bar- 
riers on  the  west,  leave  it  with  little  of  the  daily  sea- 
breeze  that  makes  summer  so  pleasant  farther  south. 
But  good  land  supplied  with  plenty  of  water  is  much 
cheaper  there  than  it  is  or  ever  will  be  in  the  irriga- 
ble parts  of  the  more  southern  counties,  where  the 
climate  is  so  much  more  attractive  and  the  formation 
of  the  land  so  much  better  adapted  to  the  making  of 
picturesque  places. 

There  are  land-swindles  in  California,  as  there  are  in 
Florida.  But  few  if  any  of  the  land-agencies  having 
offices  here  could  in  any  sense  be  called  swindles.  One 
might  by  a  little  carelessness  make  a  bad  bargain, 
but  would  rarely  lose  the  whole  investment.  Though 
perfect  swindles  might  be  carried  on  by  offices  abroad, 
it  could  not  be  done  to  any  extent  here.  The  arable 
land  is  now  so  free  from  timber  or  brush,  so  easily 
seen,  examined,  and  compared  with  other  cultivated 
land  of  the  same  kind,  the  rainfall  and  depth  of  sul> 
terranean  water  so  easily  ascertained;  the  whole  sur- 
rounding country,  with  its  commercial  advantages  and 
possibilities,  so  easily  seen  from  a  hundred  hill-tops, 
that  no  one  of  any  experience  or  caution  could  be 
badly  deceived.  He  who  buys  land  without  looking 
at  it  may  be  swindled  anywhere,  as  he  deserves  to  be. 


222  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

THE    "  DRAWBACKS.' 


"What  are  the  drawbacks  ?"  is  a  question  so  often 
asked  about  California  that  it  requires  an  answer. 
Every  land  has  some  drawbacks,  and  no  part  of  Cali- 
fornia is  any  exception  to  this  rule. 

Most  of  these  have  already  been  mentioned  in  one 
way  or  another,  such  as  the  ravages  of  squirrels  and 
birds,  the  occasional  drought,  and  other  things.  By 
drought  is  meant  only  the  occasional  failure  of  suffi- 
cient winter  rains  already  mentioned.  The  long  dry 
summer  of  from  six  to  eight  months  is  not  included 
in  the  term  "drought"  as  used  here,  and  is  anything 
but  a  drawback.  That  feature  of  the  land  no  resident 
would  wish  to  change.  Give  the  land  fifteen  inches 
of  rain  from  December  to  April  inclusive,  half-reason- 
ably  distributed  and  without  another  drop,  the  land 
will  excel  in  production,  acre  for  acre,  any  other  part 
of  the  United  States.  It  is  the  occasional  failure  of 
this  that  is  the  greatest  drawback.  Unless  sufficient 
for  vegetation,  summer  rains  would  do  more  harm 
than  good  by  injuring  the  dried  feed  and  ripe  crops. 
If  sufficient  the  land  would  probably  be  like  a  tropical 
jungle,  with  a  moist  air,  sultry,  enervating,  malarious, 
and  full  of  mosquitoes  and  other  insect  torments. 

Most  of  the  objectionable  features  are  such  as  any 


THE   "DRAWBACKS."  223 

experienced  person  may  readily  find  out  at  home  by 
a  little  exercise  of  his  wits.  No  one  needs  to  be  told 
that  well-traveled  roads  become  dusty,  in  summer 
especially,  where  there  is  much  heavy  hauling;  that 
in  those  parts  where  the  winters  are  warm,  the  well- 
water  is  not  as  cold  as  in  the  mountains;  that  green 
feed  is  necessary  to  make  good  fresh  butter,  and  cold 
water  is  necessary  to  work  it.  Nor  does  any  one  need 
to  be  told  that  the  whole  is  several  leagues  from  Bos- 
ton or  Chicago,  and  that  he  may  find  dull  places  here; 
that  every  opera  troupe  that  comes  to  San  Francisco 
does  not  necessarily  stop  here;  and  that  country 
towns  are  country  towns,  everywhere.  A  little  further 
use  of  the  reasoning  faculties  will  soon  show  one  that 
while  the  prices  of  wheat,  honey,  wool,  and  such 
things  are  ruled  by  the  markets  of  the  world,  and  that 
such  things  can  always  be  exported,  the  market  for 
corn,  hay,  potatoes,  eggs,  and  similar  products  here 
is  necessarily  local,  easily  glutted,  and  that  they  can- 
not be  shipped  East  or  to  Europe  at  a  profit.  Nearly 
all  other  drawbacks  can  be  readily  deduced  by  any 
one  from  facts  already  given,  and  from  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  land  and  climate.  One  is  the  fact  that  this 
is  now  no  place  for  the  poor  pioneer  with  no  capital 
but  his  muscle,  a  span  of  horses,  a  plow,  and  a  wagon; 
such  men  as  years  ago,  handicapped,  perhaps,  by  a 
sickly  wife  and  little  ones,  wrested  a  living  from  the 
prairies  of  Illinois  or  the  big  woods  of  Michigan  or 
Wisconsin,  and  finally  built  up  prosperous  homes. 

Many  things  that  used  to  be  serious  drawbacks  have 
so  changed  that  they   are  no  longer  objectionable. 


224  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

The  premium  on  gold  has  long  since  passed  away. 
The  diversification  of  industries  on  the  farm  so  that 
produce  too  cheap  to  haul  to  market  may  be  turned 
into  pork,  beef,  chickens,  butter,  etc.,  is  fast  making 
the  glutting  of  the  home  market  of  little  consequence. 
The  opening  of  through  railroad  lines  and  the  reduc- 
tion of  freight-rates  now  make  easy  the  shipment  of 
fruit  and  other  things  to  the  East,  and  lower  the  once 
high  prices  of  everything  imported  from  there.  The 
centers  of  civilization  are  now  well  supplied  with 
schools,  churches,  and  all  else  that  Eastern  towns  and 
villages  have,  and  often  considerably  more;  while  the 
most  remote  mountain  valleys  that  can  muster  an 
attendance  of  five  children  over  five  years  old  have 
public  schools  and  good  teachers. 

Many  other  drawbacks  are  offset,  and  often  over- 
balanced, by  advantages.  The  proper  management  and 
consequent  expense  of  an  irrigating  stream  is  anything 
but  unalloyed  bliss,  and  has  little  tendency  to  improve 
one's  saintship;  but  it  increases  so  enormously  the 
amount  and  certainty  of  production,  brings  such  im- 
mediate results,  and,  in  most  of  the  warm  belts,  makes 
possible  such  a  steady  round  of  growth  the  whole 
year  through,  that  it  would  be  a  great  advantage  in 
almost  any  country,  even  where  rains  were  abundant. 
Potatoes  and  many  other  vegetables  raised  in  the  low- 
lands do  not  keep  as  they  do  on  the  Atlantic  coast;  but 
then  they  can  be  grown  for  six  or  eight  months  in  the 
year,  and,  in  many  places,  all  the  year.  The  Eastern 
farmer  knows  nothing  of  winds  containing  so  little 
moisture  that  they  will  blight  growing  grain.     But, 


THE   "DRAWBACKS."  225 

on  the  other  hand,  the  California  farmer  knows  noth- 
ing of  hail-storms  in  summer,  and  his  ripe  grain  will 
stand  three  or  four  months  without  falling,  shelling, 
or  being  damaged  by  wind  or  rain.  If  the  crop  of 
the  Eastern  farmer,  as  is  often  the  case  now  with  grain, 
is  so  short  that  it  no  more  than  pays  the  expense  of 
planting  and  harvesting,  the  loss  is  really  a  total  one. 
But  the  California  farmer  gets  value  received  for  the 
last  spear  of  his  short  crop.  He  may  cut  it  for  hay, 
in  which  case  it  makes  the  strongest  of  all  fodder, 
horses  needing  no  grain  with  it  unless  working  very 
hard.  He  then  turns  his  horses  or  cattle  upon  the 
stubble,  where  they  eat  the  stalks  and  gather  the 
fallen  heads.  Or  he  may  let  it  stand  and  ripen,  and 
then  turn  in  stock  or  hogs.  Being  ripened  in  dry 
air  without  rain,  the  straw  is  very  nutritious,  and  the 
animals  will  harvest  every  particle  of  it.  Many  of 
these  compensations  are  too  obvious  to  need  mention: 
such  as  fire-wood,  in  which  the  increased  price  is  more 
than  offset  by  the  difference  in  the  amount  needed  in 
winter,  etc. 

The  great  amount  of  time  that  the  climate  allows 
the  farmer  is  a  great  advantage  if  rightly  used.  Yet 
it  generally  works  just  the  other  way,  and  is  to  many 
a  positive  injury.  It  is  certain  that  there  are  at  least 
two  hundred  days  in  the  year  when  the  weather  is 
pleasantly  cool,  like  September  days  in  the  East,  when 
one  can  work  without  ever  complaining  of  heat.  It 
is  equally  certain  that  during  the  other  one  hundred 
and  sixty-five  days  both  men  and  horses  can  work  as 
hard  and  as  long,  and  with  far  less  danger  of  pros- 


226  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

tuition  from  heat  than  they  can  in  Pennsylvania  or 
Ohio.  The  dryness  of  the  air  and  the  unfailing  breeze 
make  the  hottest  weather  here  far  less  debilitating 
than  the  hottest  weather  in  New  York. 

But  why  hasten  anything  to-day,  when  to-morrow 
or  next  week,  or  next  month,  is  sure  to  be  as  good, 
perhaps  better  ?  There  is  no  "  fall  work  "  to  be  done, 
no  winter  to  get  ready  for,  nothing  but  to  sit  around 
and  wait  for  the  rains,  find  fault  with  the  supervisors, 
school-trustees,  and  the  lawyers,  whittle  sticks  and  eat. 
Then,  why  postpone  a  trip  to  town  to  see  "  the  show," 
or  to  a  distant  dance,  or  a  hunt,  or  a  visit  to  a  neighbor 
whose  wine  is  ripening,  simply  to  do  some  work  that 
will  keep  another  month  or  two  ?  This  is  the  prime 
cause  of  an  incalculable  amount  of  shiftlessness,  and 
actually  causes  many  to  do  worse  instead  of  better 
farming  than  they  would  do  where  they  had  to  hug 
the  fire  and  handle  the  pitchfork  for  seven  months  in 
the  year. 

Some  things  that  in  the  East  are  generally  supposed 
to  be  objectionable  features  of  California  amount  to 
nothing.  The  insects  and  reptiles  which  are  gener- 
ally thought  to  make  existence  lively  here  have  been 
already  considered.  Earthquakes  a  stranger  will 
generally  know  nothing  of  until  told.  Since  the  com- 
ing of  the  Americans  there  has  been  no  one  hurt  and 
no  house  injured  in  Southern  California  by  an  earth- 
quake; and  the  only  case  known  before  that  is  the 
falling  of  an  adobe  tower  at  the  Mission  Church  at 
San  Juan  Capistrano,  eighty  years  ago.  All  the  other 
old  missions  built  of  adobe,  some  of  them   like   that 


THE   "DRAWBACKS.-  22/ 

of  San  Luis  Rey  with  high  towers  and  domes,  have 
never  been  cracked  in  the  hundred  and  odd  years  that 
they  have  stood.  Hydrophobia  and  sunstroke  arc- 
quite  unknown  even  in  the  most  extreme  weather. 

The  Chinese  and  the  Indians  are  not,  as  many  sup- 
pose, any  drawback.  No  people  feel  more  unani- 
mously or  bitterly  upon  any  question  than  the  whites 
of  Southern  California  do  upon  the  Chinese  question. 
They  have  no  feeling  against  the  Chinese,  as  indi- 
viduals, and  treat  them  as  well  as  any  foreigners. 
Scarcely  any  one  would  object  to  a  few  remaining 
here,  but  they  are  bitterly  opposed  to  the  coming  of 
any  more,  and  especially  to  being  constantly  insulted 
by  being  told  that  their  sentiments  are  made  and 
controlled  by  the  hoodlums  and  Sand-lot  politicians 
of  San  Francisco.  We  do  not  believe  we  ought  to 
be  overrun  with  them  at  their  own  sweet  will  be- 
cause "our  forefathers  intended  this  for  a  great  free 
country,"  etc.  Nor  do  we  believe  that  God  sends  a 
hundred  thousand  here  in  slavery  in  order  to  Chris- 
tianize a  dozen  of  them  skin-deep.  Had  our  fore- 
fathers lived  a  year  or  two  on  this  coast  of  late,  they 
would  have  concluded  that  the  open-bosom  business 
had  outlived  its  usefulness,  that  they  had  kept  an 
asylum  long  enough  for  the  oppressed  of  other  coun- 
tries, and  that  it  was  time  for  charity  to  trouble  itself 
with  home  affairs.  We  think,  too,  that  we  can  ex- 
plain their  coming  in  a  way  much  more  complimen- 
tary to  the  wisdom  of  Providence  in  the  choice  of 
methods  than  the  theory  of  Eastern  divines.  A  vote, 
the  results  of  which  have  been  steadily  ignored  in  the 


228  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

East,  was  called  for  by  the  Governor  of  the  State  six 
years  ago  to  show  that  this  feeling  was  not  confined 
to  the  rough  element  of  the  cities.  It  was  taken  at  a 
general  election  when  a  very  full  vote  was  called  out. 
The  total  State  vote  was  161,405:  upon  the  question  of 
Chinese  immigration  there  were  cast  in  all  155,521, 
showing  at  least  that  some  interest  was  taken  in  the 
matter.  Of  these  there  were  against  Chinese  immi- 
gration 154,638,  and  in  favor  of  it  883.  This  vote  was 
more  unanimous  in  the  country  districts  than  in  the 
cities,  and  especially  in  those  parts  of  the  South  where 
Kearney,  the  Sand-lot  orator,would  have  been  thrashed 
and  hustled  out  even  more  quickly  than  he  was  at 
Santa  Anna.  This  vote  undoubtedly  represents  the 
whole  coast.  Two  things  are  morally  certain  :  that  a 
majority  of  these  154,638  voters  were  once  Eastern 
people,  and  that  a  large  proportion  of  them  once  felt 
otherwise.  These  facts  ought  to  show  that  there  is 
something  about  the  question  that  no  one  can  know 
without  living  here  for  a  time.  There  are  many  who 
feel  that  it  is  enough  that  two  large  States  and  one 
Territory  don't  want  the  Chinese.  Why  not  is  imma- 
terial. Even  the  prejudices  of  so  large  a  people,  when 
so  deep  and  unanimous,  should  be  respected.  To  ig- 
nore them  upon  grounds  purely  sentimental,  or  for  a 
little  trade,  felt  only  by  a  few  cities,  is  nothing  but 
tyranny;  none  the  less  tyranny  for  being  done  by  a 
majority  in  a  Republic  than  if  done  by  the  autocrat 
of  the  Russias.  The  better  sentiment  of  this  land 
feels  most  kindly  toward  the  Chinamen  as  individu- 
als, and  would  do  all  in  its  power  to  protect  them. 


THE    ' '  DRA  IV B A  CKS  " 


22Q 


For  years  it  has  held  the  lawless  in  stern  check,  and 
still  holds  them  there.  But  if  there  comes  a  time 
when  it  loses  its  moral  influence,  and  its  physical 
force  proves  too  small,  upon  the  head  of  those  who 
have  steadily  ignored  the  almost  unanimous  feeling 
of  a  great  people  will  rest  the  blood  of  the  poor,  un- 
fortunate coolies  who  are  not  to  blame,  or  of  unpro- 
tected Americans  in  China.  Whatever  the  future  may 
bring,  however,  it  is  certain  that  there  are  not  now 
enough  Chinese  in  the  greater  part  of  the  South  to 
interfere  with  any  deserving  white  person. 

There  are  no  Indians  here  that  any  one  need  fear. 
Brought  up  under  the  Catholic  missionaries,  and 
taught  to  work  by  the  old  Spanish  settlers  who  re- 
mained after  the  missions  were  closed,  the  Indians  of 
Southern  California  have  always  been  peaceable,  and 
have  submitted  with  scarcely  a  murmur  to  the  greatest 
wrong,  next  to  slavery  or  death,  that  a  powerful, 
civilized  nation  could  inflict  upon  a  weak  and  child- 
like people.  Little  has  been  known  of  their  wrongs, 
because  they  have  not  been  borne  to  the  world  on  the 
smoke  of  blazing  homes  and  the  screams  of  tortured 
white  women  and  children.  Our  fatherly  government, 
which  has  so  tender  a  regard  for  the  Apache's  feel- 
ings that  it  cannot  move  him  from  his  home  where 
his  knowledge  of  the  water-holes  alone  is  worth  all 
the  troopers  of  the  United  States,  and  where  he 
knows  every  mountain-pass  and  short  cut  and  camp- 
ing-place, has  driven  from  the  homes  occupied  by 
themselves  and  their  ancestors,  from  time  immemo- 
rial, thousands  of  the  poor,  peaceable  Mission  Indians, 


230  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

and  given  their  lands  to  strangers.  Two  acres  with 
a  littie  stream  of  water  will  support  a  whole  family 
of  them,  and  fifty  aces  a  settlement  of  a  hundred  or 
more.  They  have  never  asked  anything  of  our  Gov- 
ernment but  to  be  allowed  to  till  the  land  where  their 
forefathers  were  born,  lived,  and  died.  Yet  this  slight 
boon  has  been  coldly  denied  them,  while  the  freshest 
importation  from  a  foreign  shore  has  been  allowed 
to  take  three  hundred  and  twenty  acres  away  from 
them.  Thousands  of  them,  with  their  villages  and  all, 
have  been  surveyed  into  the  large  ranches,  and  the 
maps  plainly  showing  this  outrage  approved  by  the 
Department  at  Washington,  though  there  was  no 
earthly  need  of  thus  running  the  lines.  To  tell  them 
that  they  may  become  naturalized  and  buy  the  land 
as  any  other  foreigner  is  precisely  the  same  as  if  a 
judge  should  advise  a  six-year-old  orphan  that  he 
had  a  right  to  appear  in  court  in  defence  of  his 
rights,  and  then  leave  him  to  look  after  them  him- 
self. What  a  contrast  between  our  country  and  Mex- 
ico, that  we  consider  so  benighted  !  Mexico  treats 
the  peaceable,  industrious  Indian  like  a  man,  and  gives 
him  all  his  rights  ;  the  Apache,  whom  she  has  tried 
longer  to  reform  than  we  have,  she  treats,  not  as  we 
do,  like  a  wayward  child,  merely  sowing  his  wild  oats 
a  little  too  thick,  but  like  the  incorrigible  coyote  that 
he  is.  We  just  reverse  the  treatment,  and  even 
shield  our  red-handed  darling  from  the  municipal 
law  with  the  army,  while  the  poor  Mission  Indian  is 
left  to  answer  for  crime,  alone  and  friendless,  at  the 
same  bar   with   the  white   man  !     A   tardy  effort   has 


THE   "DRAWBACKS."  23 1 

been  made  to  right  the  wrong,  but  it  is  too  late. 
The  Mission  Indians  are  dying  out.  It  is  too  late  to 
save  them  with  schools,  where  their  children  are 
taught  just  enough  to  raise  them  above  work.  There 
never  was  any  danger  from  them.  There  is,  if  pos- 
sible, still  less  from  the  few  that  remain,  and  especially 
from  the  miserable,  degraded  ones  that  now  hang 
about  the  towns,  to  earn  in  any  way  they  can  the  liv- 
ing our  country  has  denied  them. 

California  has  a  reputation  for  shooting-affrays, 
and  it  is  too  well  deserved.  But  most  of  them  arise 
from  quarrels  in  the  country,  among  neighbors  ; 
often  over  some  such  trifle  as  a  school  election,  a 
boundary  line,  or  surveyor's  corner.  Aside  from  such 
things,  which  are  certainly  more  common  than  in  the 
Atlantic  States,  life  is  as  safe  here  as  anywhere.  In 
the  South  robbery  and  burglary  are  not  as  common 
as  in  most  parts  of  the  East,  and  there  never  has  been 
any  of  the  cowboy  element  that  used  to  figure  in 
New  Mexico  and  Arizona.  Even  in  the  wildest  parts 
it  would  not  be  tolerated  for  a  day.  With  the  ocean 
on  one  side,  Lower  California  on  another,  and  the 
great  deserts  on  the  third,  it  is  not  altogether  a  pleas- 
ant country  to  escape  from  ;  and  these  peculiar  boun- 
daries have  long  made  it  unattractive  to  the  worst 
classes  of  marauders  and  malefactors,  and  made  both 
life  and  property  unusually  safe,  even  in  the  roughest 
parts  of  San  Diego  County. 

California  has  been  so  absurdly  overpraised  that 
too  many  come  here  expecting  to  find  a  Paradise, 
where,  amid  eternal    sunshine,  flowers,  and  singing- 


232  SOUTHERN  CALIFORNIA. 

birds,  with  every  kind  of  fruit  cheap,  and  everywhere 
within  arm's  reach  ripe  winter  and  summer  of  course, 
they  are  to  take  life  easy,  and  live  without  work. 
But  lie  who  expects  to  dodge  the  curse  imposed  upon 
Adam  without  a  good  balance  in  bank,  or  reach 
heaven  without  the  preliminary  ceremony  of  dying, 
had  better  stay  away.  California  is  no  paradise,  and 
never  will  be.  Man  would  not  let  it  be,  even  if  Nature 
had  so  made  it.  Its  soft  climate,  wild  and  varied 
scenery,  its  lavish  generosity  under  good  treatment, 
ought  to  develop  the  kindlier  feelings  of  man,  espe- 
cially among  the  class  of  men  that  such  attractions 
bring  here.  But  they  don't.  There  are  just  as  many 
men  here  of  the  kind  Horace  describes  as  withering 
away  if  a  neighbor's  she-goat  bears  a  more  distended 
udder  than  theirs;  just  as  many  men  whose  "life 
work"  is  to  get  at  their  neighbor's  marrow  ;  just  as 
many  whose  bond  is  as  good  as  their  word  ;  just 
as  many  who  will  try  to  defeat  anything  they  don't 
happen  to  have  a  hand  in  ;  just  as  many  who  cannot 
see  an  honest  man  on  the  trail  of  a  dollar  without 
trying  to  throw  him  off  the  scent.  Why  should  it 
not  be  so  ?     Are  they  not  all  human  ? 

It  is  a  land  of  solid  realities  and  glittering  frauds. 
As  usual,  the  trash  floats  on  the  surface,  the  good  lies 
beneath.  One's  first  contact  is  apt  to  be  with  the 
frauds.  It  takes  longer  to  find  out  the  realities. 
When  you  stay  long  enough  to  see  them  and  find  out 
that  the  country  is  not  to  blame  for  your  overwrought 
imagination,  the  unwise  enthusiasm  of  friends,  or  the 
deliberate  lies  of   others,  you  will  begin  to   like    it. 


the  " drawbacks:'  233 

Year  after  year  an  affection  that  you  cannot  and 
would  not  resist  winds  itself  more  closely  around 
your  soul.  Life  comes  so  easily  and  so  naturally  ; 
time  flies  so  swiftly,  yet  so  softly!  You  feel  the  thread 
of  life  fly  faster  from  the  spindle,  yet  you  hear  no 
whizz.  There  are  so  few  breaks  or  jars  in  the  train  of 
comfort,  as  the  long  line  of  cloudless  days  rolls  on  ; 
appetite  and  sleep  hang  around  you  so  wooingly  in 
the  constant  out-of-door  life,  that  you  are  enthralled 
before  you  know  it. 

There  are  many  who  return  disappointed  to  the 
East  after  a  few  days'  or  weeks'  visit.  But  rare  in- 
deed is  he  who  returns  to  the  East  after  living  here 
two  or  three  years;  and  still  rarer  he  who  stays  East 
more  than  one  winter  if  he  does  return. 


THE    END. 


TWO  FIRST  CLASS  SPORTING  BOOKS. 


BY 


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perience  to  disclose."— Acjd  York  Sun. 

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celebrated  among  sportsmen."- — //  'ilkes1 
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at  the  same  time,  gives  a  full  and  truthful 
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"  It  is  written  as  such  a  book  should 
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ing  Mail. 

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writer's  descriptions  of  hunting,  fishing 
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there  is  just  enough  love-making  wi  \  in 
in  with  the  wild  life  to  give  it  additional 
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***  To  be  had  of  any  Bookseller,  or  will  be  mailed  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by 
the  Publishers, 

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THE  ONLY  EXISTING  COMPLETE  BOOK  ON  THE  SUBJECT. 

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Being  a  Full,  Graphic,  and  Comprehensive  History 

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Century  up  to  the  time  of  its  General  Debasement  and  Prohibition  ; 
Also  of  the  Rise  and  Prevalence  and  General  Decadence  of  the 
Private    Duel    throughout    the    Civilized    World;  and.   also, 
Graphic   and   Elaborate    Descriptions   of  all   the  Noted 
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(so-calledi  "  Field  of  Honor." 

By  MAJOR    BEX    C.    TRUMAN, 

Julh  r  of  "Campaigning in  Tennessee,'"  "The  South  after  the  War."  "Semi- 
Tropical  California"    "Tourists'   Illustrated  Guide  to  the  Celebrated 
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-Intr  iductory  and  Historical.' 

-Duelling  in  France. 
England. 
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Other     European 
Countries. 

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"  Mexico.  West  Indies, 

Japan,  anions  the  Indians,  and 
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loons, at  Sea,  in  Fiction,  on  the 
Stage,  etc.;  Tournaments  and 
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light, and  by  Candlelight. 

-Noted  European  Duels  (several 
chapters  1. 

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chapters'. 

-First  and  Last  Fatal  Duels  in 
United  States. 


-■> 


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rmd  Conway. 
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ists. 
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Field. 


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"A  charming  addition  to  the  personal  history  of  American  literature." 

BRYANT,  *?  HIS  FRIENDS: 

SOME     REMINISCENCES    OF    THE 
KNICKERBOCKER    WRITERS. 

Biographical  and  Anecdotal  Sketches  of  William  Cullen  Bryant, 
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EDGAR  A.  POE; 
BAYARD  TAYLOR;  JOHN  HOWARD  PAYNE; 

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Profusely  Illustrated.     $2.00. 

"  So  beautiful  and  attractive  a  book  upon  the  picturesque  localities 

and  characters  of  Philadelphia  has  never  before  been  issued 

Distinguished  not   only  by  finish  in  authorship,  but  also  by  exquisite 
beauty  of  illustration." — The  Keystone,  Philadelphia. 

THERE    WAS    ONCE    A    MAN.      A  Story.     By 
Orpheus  C.  Kerr.     530  pp.     Illustrated.     $1.50. 
"  After  many  years  of  silence,  Orpheus  C.  Kerr  has  broken  out  again. 
His  new  novel  is  auaint  and  fresh." — Hartford  Times. 

FORDS,  HOWARD,  &  HULBERT, 

27  Park  Place,  New  York. 


CHOICE  FICTION  ON  THEMES  OF  THE  DAY. 


MORMONISM. 

THE  FATE  OF  MADAME  LATOUR.  A  Story  of  Great  Salt  Lake. 
By  Mrs.  A.  G.  Paddock.     i6mo.    Cloth,  $i.    (Tenth  Thousand). 

Part  I.  A  Novel.      Part  II.  A  History  of  Utah,  from  1870  to  1885. 


'"  Thrilling  enough  to  interest  the  most 
exacting  lover  of  fiction,  while  solemn 
enough  in  its  facts  and  in  its  warnings  to 
engage  the  attention  of  the  most  serious 
statesmen.'' — The  Criti    (N.  Y.) 

"Not  only  literature,  but  statesmanship 


of  a  high  order  .  .  .  handled  with 
remarkable  skill,  delicacy,  and  reserve, 
marked  throughout  by  tcmpcrai  i 
language  ar.d  reserve  of  feeling.  .  .  . 
The  ht'iry  fires  the  imagination." — Liter- 
ary World  (Boston). 


THE   INDIANS. 

PLOUGHED  UNDER  :  The  Story  of  an  Indian  Chief.  TOLD 
by  Himself.  With  an  introduction  by  INSHTA  Theamba  ("iJright 
Eyes").     i6mo.     Cloth,  $1;  paper,  50  cents. 


"Of  unmistakable  Indian  origin,  and 
contains  enough  genuine  eloquence  and 
poetry  and  pathos  to  equip  a  dozen 
ordinary  novelists." — S.  S.  limes. 

"  It  has  all  the  fascination  of  books  of 
travel  among  strange  peoples,  with  some 


new  or  unexpected  turn  of  thought  or  of 
fact  at   every   step.1'-   Portland  Argus. 

"The  story  is,  in  fact,  a  poem;  as 
much  so  as  the  prose-poems  of  Long 
fellow  or  Philip  Sidney.''  —  Chicago 
Standard. 


SOUTHERN    VIEW   OF    THE    REBELLION. 

THE  MODERN   HAGAR.     New  Author's  Edition.     By  Charles 
M.Clay.     2  vols  in  one.     772  pp.     Cloth,  %  1.50. 


cised,  and  to  be  remembered  when  most 
of  the  novels  of  the  day  are  forgotten." 
—Providence  Press. 


"  A  book  of  immense  fire  and  strength." 
— Boston  Gazette. 

"  A  strong,  virile  book,  sure  to  be  read 
and  talked  about,  to  be  praised  and  criti- 

THE    "BOSS"    IN    TOLITICS. 

THE  CLEVERDALE  MYSTERY;  or,  The  Political  Machine 
and  its  Wheels.    By  William  A.  Wilkins.    Cloth,  $1;  paper,  40c. 


"  Chuckle  over  its  fun  and  think  twice 
about  its  meanings." — Toledo  Blade. 

"  A  careful  observer  of  the  abuses  he 
undertakes  to  expose  ;  he  describes  them 
with  interesting  minuteness." — NewYork 
Tribune. 

Letter  from  Ex-President  Arthur. — 
"I  have  read  your  book  and  enjoyed  much 
the  results  of  your  political  observations 
which  you  have  so  felicitously  worked 
into  it." — C.  A.  Arthur. 


Letter  from  President  Cleveland.— 

'"Will  be  productive  of  much  good  in 
bringing  to  the  knowledge  of  ali  who  read 
ant  pages  the  vices  of  a  perverted 
and  degenerate  system  of  political  man- 
agement. It  should,  however,  and  I 
hope  will,  suggest  that  there  can  be  a 
bright  side  to  politics  which  maj 
time  and  attention  without  disgrace,  and 
in  the  proper  performance  of  the  duty 
involved  in  good  citizenship."— Grover 
Cleveland. 

SPECULATION. 

ON  A  MARGIN.  A  Novel  of  Wall  Street  and  Washington. 
By  Julius  Chambers,  author  of  "A  Mad  World,"  etc.  416  pp. 
Cloth,  $1.25;  paper,  50  cents. 


"  Genuine  power  .  .  .  curt  incisive 
language  .  .  .  sharp  brilliant  strokes." 
— Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  Has  remarkable  keenness  of  percep- 
tion and   a  rare  faculty  of  presenting  his 


observations  with  much  force  and  bright- 
ness and  strong  realism  of  details,    .    ._  . 

Bristles  with  keen  thrusts  and  sharp  hits 
at  the  foibles  of  American  life  as  we  all 
know  it." — Boston  Times. 


SLAVERY,    AVAR,    and    RECONSTRUCTION. 

TOURGEE'S  FIVE  GREAT  NOVELS  :  Hot  Plowshares  ; 
Figs  and  Thistles  ;  A  Royal  Gentleman  ;  A  Fool's  Errand  ; 
Bricks  Without  Straw.     $1.50  per  Vol.     See  special  page. 

FORDS,  HOWARD,  &  HULBERT, 

27  Park  Place,  New  York. 


The  Springfield  (Mass.)  Republican,  speaking  of  "A  Fool's 
Errand"  and  "Bricks  without  Straw,"  says:  " Scarcely anything in  fiction 
so  powerful  has  been  written,  from  a  merely  literary  standpoint,  as  these 
boohs.     'Uncle  Tom's  Cabin'  cannot  compare  with  them  in  this  respect." 

American   Historical  Novels. 


By  ALBION  W.  TOURGEE,  A.M. ,  LL.D. 

Late  Judge  Superior  Court  of  North  Carolina. 


—UNIFORM  EDITION.— 

HOT  PLOWSHARES.     610  pp.     Illustrated.     $1.50. 

"  Completes  that  series  of  historical  novels  .  .  which  have  illustrated  so  forci- 
bly and  graphically  the  era  of  our  civil  war — the  causes  that  led  up  it,  and  the  conse- 
quences resulting  from  it.  This  volume,  although  the  last,  covers  a  period  antece- 
dent to  the  others.  The  opening  scene  of  the  story  is  in  the  valley  of  the  Mohawk, 
in  Central  New  York,  and  the  time  is  November,  1848,  just  when  the  growing  anti- 
slavery  sentiment  of  the  country  was  beginning  to  make  itself  felt.  .  .  Forcible, 
picturesque." — Chicago  Evening  Journal. 

FIGS  and  THISTLES.  (A  Typical  American  Career.)  528  pp., 
with  Garfield  frontispiece.      $1.50. 

"Crowded  with  incident,  populous  with  strong  characters,  rich  in  humor,  and 
from  beginning  to  end  alive  with  absorbing  interest." — Commonwealth  (Boston.) 

"  It  Is.  we  think,  evident  that  thehero  of  the  book  is  James  A.  Garfield." — Atchi- 
son (Kan.)  Champion. 

"  A  capital  American  story.  Its  characters  are  not  from  foreign  courts  or  the 
pestilential  dens  of  foreign  cities.  They  are  fresh  from  the  real  life  of  the  forest  and 
prairie  of  the  West." — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

A   ROYAL    GENTLEMAN.     (Master  and  Slave.)     [Originally 
Published  under  the  title  of  "  Toinette."~\     Including  also  Zouri's 
Christmas.      527  pp.      Illustrated.      $1.50. 
"While,  with  no  political   discussions,  it  grasps  the  historic  lines  which  have 
formed  so  large  a  part  of  this  author's  inspiration,  it  mingles  with  them  the  threads 
of  love,  mystery,  adventure,  crime,  and  the  personal  elements  of  battlefield  and  hos- 
pital in  such  a  way  that  the  reader  is  led  on  by  the  most  absorbing  interest  in   the 
characters  themselves." — Albany  Evening  Journal. 

A  FOOL'S  ERRAND:  and,  The  Invisible  Empire.  (The  Re- 
construction Era.)  52S  pp.  Illustrated.  $1.50. 
"  Holds  the  critic  spell-bound.  .  .  .  English  literature  contains  no  similar 
picture." — International  Rc7>iew.  "Abounds  in  sketches  not  matched  in  the  whole 
range  'if  modern  fiction." — Boston  Traveller.  "Among  the  famous  novels  that,  once 
written,  must  be  read  by  everybody." — Portland  Advertiser. 

BRICKS  without  STRAW.     (The  Bondage  of  the  Freedmen.) 

522  pp.      Frontispiece.      $1.50. 
"  The  characters  are  real  creations  of  romance  who  will  live  alongside  of  Mrs. 
Stowe's  or  Walter  Scott's  till  the  times  that  gave  them  birth  have  been  forgotten." — 
Advance  (Chicago"). 

"  Since  the  days  of  Swift  and  his  pamphleteers,  we  doubt  if  fiction  has  been 
made  to  play  so  caustic  and  delicate  a  part.   — San  Francisco  News-Letter. 
—  ALSO  — 

JOHN  EAX.     (The  South  Without  the  Shadow.)    $1.00. 

"  Rare  genre  pictures  of  Southern  life,  scenes,  men,  women,  and  customs  drawn 
by  a  Northern  hand  in  a  manner  as  masterly  as  it  is  natural.  .  .  Such  books  as 
Tourgee's  last  will  do  more  toward  bringing  Southern  and  Northern  people  into 
complete  social  and  business  intercourse  than  all  the  peace  conferences  and  soldier 
reum  >ns  that  were  ever  held  since  the  war,  put  together."-/  'icksburg (Miss.)  Herald. 

FORDS,  HOWARD,  &  HULBERT, 

27  Park  Place,  New  York, 


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